Southern 
Lights  and  Shadows 


EDITED  BY 
WILLIAM  DEAN   HOWELLft 

AND 
HENRY  MILLS  ALDEN 


Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 
New  York  and  London 


Copyright,  1894,  1895,  1896,  1897,  1898,  1904,  ,906, 
1907,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  rtservtd. 


GRACE  MACGOWAN   COOKE 

THE   CAPTURE    OF   ANDY    PROUD- 
FOOT. 

ABBY  MEGUIRE   ROACH 

THE  LEVEL  OF  FORTUNE 

ALICE  MACGOWAN 

PAP  OVERHOLT 

MRS.  B.  F.  MAYHEW 

7.V   THE  PINY  WOODS 

WILLIAM   L.   SHEPPARD 

MY  FIFTH  IN  MAMMY 

SARAH   BARNWELL  ELLIOTT 

AN  INCIDENT 

M.  E.  M.  DAVIS 

A  SNIPE  HUNT 

J.  J.  EAKINS 

THE  COURTSHIP  OF  COLONEL  BILL 

MAURICE   THOMPSON 

THE    BALANCE    OF    POWER 


27430G 


Introduction 

THE  most  noticeable  characteristic  of 
the  extraordinary  literary  development  of 
the  South  since  the  Civil  War  is  that  it 
is  almost  entirely  in  the  direction  of  real 
ism.  A  people  who,  up  to  that  time, 
had  been  so  romantic  that  they  wished 
to  naturalize  among  themselves  the  ideals 
and  usages  of  the  Walter  Scott  ages  of 
chivalry,  suddenly  dropped  all  that,  and 
in  their  search  for  literary  material  could 
apparently  find  nothing  so  good  as  the 
facts  of  their  native  life.  The  more 
"commonplace"  these  facts  the  better 
they  seemed  to  like  them.  Evidently  they 
believed  that  there  was  a  poetry  under 
the  rude  outside  of  their  mountaineers, 
their  slattern  country  wives,  their  shy 
rustic  men  and  maids,  their  grotesque 
humorists,  their  wild  religionists,  even 
their  black  freedmen,  which  was  worth 
more  than  the  poetastery  of  the  romantic 
fiction  of  their  fathers.  In  this  strong 
faith,  which  need  not  have  been  a  con 
scious  creed,  the  writers  of  the  New 
South  have  given  the  world  sketches  and 


vi  Introduction 

studies  and  portraits  of  the  persons  and 
conditions  of  their  peculiar  civilization 
which  the  Russians  themselves  have  not 
excelled  in  honesty,  and  hardly  in  sim 
plicity.  To  be  sure,  this  development  was 
on  the  lines  of  those  early  humorists  who 
antedated  the  romantic  fictionists,  and 
who  were  often  in  their  humor  so  rank, 
so  wild,  so  savage,  so  cruel,  but  the  mod 
ern  realism  has  refined  both  upon  their 
matter  and  their  manner.  Some  of  the 
most  artistic  work  in  the  American  short- 
story,  that  is  to  say  the  best  short-story 
in  the  world,  has  been  done  in  the  South, 
so  that  one  may  be  reasonably  sure  of  an 
artistic  pleasure  in  taking  up  a  Southern 
story.  One  finds  in  the  Southern  stories 
careful  and  conscientious  character,  rich 
local  color,  and  effective  grouping,  and 
at  the  same  time  one  finds  genuine  pa 
thos,  true  humor,  noble  feeling,  generous 
sympathy.  The  range  of  this  work  is  so 
great  as  to  include  even  pictures  of  the 
more  conventional  life,  but  mainly  the 
writers  keep  to  the  life  which  is  not  con 
ventional,  the  life  of  the  fields,  the  woods, 
the  cabin,  the  village,  the  little  country 
town.  It  would  be  easier  to  undervalue 
than  to  overvalue  them,  as  we  believe 
the  reader  of  the  admirable  pieces  here 
collected  will  agree.  W.  D.  H. 


The  Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot 

BY  GRACE   MACGOWAN   COOKE 

A  DRY  branch  snapped  under  Kerry's 
foot  with  the  report  of  a  toy  pistol. 
He  swore  perfunctorily,  and  gazed 
greedily  at  the  cave-opening  just  ahead. 
He  was  a  bungling  woodsman  at  best; 
and  now,  stalking  that  greatest  of  all  big 
game,  man,  the  blood  drummed  in  his 
ears  and  his  heart  seemed  to  slip  a  cog 
or  two  with  every  beat.  He  stood  tense, 
yet  trembling,  for  the  space  in  which 
a  man  might  count  ten;  surely  if  there 
were  any  one  inside  the  cave — if  the  one 
whose  presence  he  suspected  were  there — 
such  a  noise  would  have  brought  him 
forth.  But  a  great  banner  of  trumpet- 
creeper,  which  hid  the  opening  till  one 
was  almost  upon  it,  waved  its  torches 
unstirred  except  by  the  wind ;  the  sand 
in  the  doorway  was  unpressed  by  any  foot. 
Kerry  began  to  go  forward  by  inches. 
He  was  weary  as  only  a  town-bred  man, 
used  to  the  leisurely  patrolling  of  pave- 

i    S.L. 


2  Harper's  Novelettes 

ments,  could  be  after  struggling  oblique 
ly  up  and  across  the  pathless  flank  of  Big 
Turkey  Track  Mountain,  and  then  climb 
ing  to  this  eyrie  upon  Old  Yellow  Bald — 
Old  Yellow,  the  peak  that  reared  its 
"  Bald "  of  golden  grass  far  above  the 
ranges  of  The  Big  and  Little  Tur 
key  Tracks. 

"  Lord,  how  hungry  I  am !"  he  breathed. 
"  I  bet  the  feller's  got  grub  in  there." 
He  had  been  out  two  days.  He  was  light 
headed  from  lack  of  food;  at  the  thought 
of  it  nervous  caution  gave  way  to  mere 
brute  instinct,  and  he  plunged  recklessly 
into  the  cave.  Inside,  the  sudden  dark 
ness  blinded  him  for  a  moment.  Then 
there  began  to  be  visible  in  one  corner 
a  bed  of  bracken  and  sweet-fern;  in  an 
other  an  orderly  arrangement  of  tin  cans 
upon  a  shelf,  and  the  ashes  of  a  fire,  where 
sat  a  Dutch  oven.  The  sight  of  this  last 
whetted  Kerry's  hunger;  he  almost  ran 
to  the  shelf,  and  groaned  as  he  found  the 
first  can  filled  with  gunpowder,  the  next 
with  shot,  and  the  third  containing  some 
odds  and  ends  of  string  and  nails. 

He  had  knelt  to  inspect  a  rude  box, 
when  a  little  sound  caused  him  to  turn. 
In  the  doorway  was  a  figure  which  raised 
the  hair  upon  his  head,  with  a  chilly 
sensation  at  its  roots — a  tall  man,  with 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot        3 

a  great  mane  of  black  locks  blowing  un 
checked  about  his  shoulders.  He  stood 
turned  away  from  Kerry,  having  halted 
in  the  doorway  as  though  to  take  a  last 
advantage  of  the  outer  daylight  upon 
some  object  of  interest  to  him  before 
entering.  He  was  examining  one  of  his 
own  hands,  and  a  little  shivering  moan 
escaped  him.  A  rifle  rested  in  the  hollow 
of  his  arm;  Kerry  could  see  the  outline 
of  a  big  navy-pistol  in  his  belt;  and  as 
the  man  shifted,  another  came  to  view; 
while  the  Irishman's  practised  eye  did 
not  miss  the  handle  of  a  long  knife  in 
its  sheath.  It  went  swiftly  through  his 
mind  that  those  who  sent  him  on  this 
errand  should  have  warned  him  of  the 
size  of  the  quarry.  Suddenly,  almost 
without  his  own  volition,  he  found  him 
self  saying :  "  I  ask  your  pardon.  I  was 
dead  beat  an'  fair  famished,  an'  I 
crawled  in  here  to — 

The  tall  figure  in  the  doorway  turned 
like  a  thing  on  a  pivot;  he  did  not  start, 
nor  spin  round,  as  a  slighter  or  more 
nervous  person  might  have  done;  and  a 
strange  chill  fell  upon  Kerry's  heat 
when  the  man,  whom  he  recognized  as 
that  one  he  had  come  to  seek,  faced  him. 
The  big,  dark  eyes  looked  the  intruder 
up  and  down;  what  their  owner  thought 


4  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  him,  what  he  decided  concerning  him, 
could  no  more  be  guessed  than  the  events 
of  next  year.  In  a  full,  grave  voice, 
but  one  exceedingly  gentle,  the  owner  of 
the  cave  repaired  the  lack  of  greeting. 

"  Howdy,  stranger?"  he  said.  "  I  never 
seen  you  as  I  come  up,  'count  o'  havin' 
snagged  my  hand  on  this  here  gun." 

He  came  toward  Kerry  with  the  bleed 
ing  member  outstretched.  Now  was  the 
Irishman's  time — by  all  his  former  reso 
lutions,  by  the  need  he  had  for  that 
money  reward  —  to  deftly  handcuff  the 
outlaw.  What  he  did  was  to  draw  the 
other  toward  the  daylight,  examine  the 
hand,  which  was  torn  and  lacerated  on 
the  gun-hammer,  and  with  sundry  ex 
clamations  of  sympathy  proceed  to  bind 
it  up  with  strips  torn  from  his  own 
handkerchief. 

"  Snagged !"  he  echoed,  as  he  noted 
how  the  great  muscle  of  the  thumb  was 
torn  across.  "  I  don't  see  how  you  ever 
done  that  on  a  gun-hammer.  I've  nursed 
a  good  bit — I  was  in  Cuby  last  year, 
an'  I  was  detailed  for  juty  in  the  hos 
pital  more'n  half  my  time,"  he  went  on, 
eagerly.  "  This  here  hand,  it's  bad, 
'cause  it's  torn.  Ef  you  had  a  cut  o'  that 
size,  now,  you  wouldn't  be  payin'  no 


Capture  of  Andy  Prottdfoot        5 

minds  me  o?  the  tear  one  o'  them  there 
Mauser  bullets  makes — Gawd!  but  they 
rip  the  men  up  shockin'!"  He  rambled 
on  with  uneasy  volubility  as  he  attended 
to  the  wound.  "  You  let  me  clean  it, 
now.  It  '11  hurt  some,  but  it  '11  save  ye 
trouble  after  while.  You  set  down  on 
the  bed.  Where  kin  I  git  some  water?" 

"  Thar's  a  spring  round  the  turn  in 
the  cave  thar — they's  a  go'd  in  it." 

But  Kerry  took  one  of  the  tin  cans, 
emptied  and  rubbed  it  nervously,  talking 
all  the  while — talking  as  though  to  pre 
vent  the  other  from  speaking,  and  with 
something  more  than  the  ordinary  gar 
rulity  of  the  nurse.  "  I  got  lost  to-day," 
he  volunteered,  as  he  cleansed  the  wound 
skilfully  and  drew  its  ragged  lips  together. 
"  Gosh !  but  you  tore  that  thumb  up ! 
You  won't  hardly  be  able  to  do  nothin' 
with  that  hand  fer  a  spell.  Yessir!  I 
got  lost — that's  what  I  did.  One  tree 
looks  pretty  much  like  another  to  me; 
and  one  old  rock  it's  jest  the  same  as 
the  next  one.  I  reckon  I've  walked 
twenty  mile  sence  sunup." 

He  paused  in  sudden  panic;  but  the 
other  did  not  ask  him  whence  he  had 
walked  nor  whither  he  was  walking.  In 
stead,  he  ventured,  in  his  serious  tones, 
as  the  silence  grew  oppressive : 


6  Harper's  Novelettes 

"You're  mighty  handy  'bout  this  sort 
o'  thing.  I  reckon  I'll  have  a  tough  time 
here  alone  till  that  hand  heals." 

"  Oh,  I'll  stay  with  you  a  while,"  Kerry 
put  in,  hastily.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  on, 
a-leavin'  a  man  in  sech  a  fix,  when  I 
ain't  got  nothin'  in  particular  to  do 
an'  nowheres  in  particular  to  go,"  he  con 
cluded,  rather  lamely. 

His  host's  eyes  dwelt  on  him.  "  Well, 
now,  that  'd  be  mighty  kind  in  you, 
stranger,"  he  began,  gently;  and  added, 
with  the  mountaineer's  deathless  hospi 
tality,  "You're  shorely  welcome." 

In  Kerry's  pocket  a  pair  of  steel  hand 
cuffs  clicked  against  each  other.  Any 
moment  of  the  time  that  he  was  dressing 
the  outlaw's  hand,  identifying  at  short 
range  a  dozen  marks  enumerated  in  the 
description  furnished  him,  he  could  have 
snapped  them  upon  those  great  wrists 
and  made  his  host  his  prisoner.  Yet, 
an  hour  later,  when  the  big  man  had  told 
him  of  a  string  of  fish  tied  down  in  the 
branch,  of  a  little  cellarlike  contrivance 
by  the  spring  which  contained  honey 
comb  and  some  cold  corn-pone,  the  two 
men  sat  at  supper  like  brothers. 

"  Ye  don't  smoke  ?"  inquired  Kerry, 
commiseratingly,  as  his  host  twisted  off 
a  great  portion  of  home-cured  tobacco. 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot        7 

"  Lord !  ye'll  never  know  what  the  weed 
is  till  ye  burn  it.  A  chaw  '11  do  when 
you're  in  the  trenches  an'  afraid  to  show 
the  other  fellers  where  to  shoot,  so  that 
ye  dare  not  smoke.  Ah-h-h!  I've  had  it 
taste  like  nectar  to  me  then;  but  to 
bacco's  never  tobacco  till  it's  burnt,"  and 
the  Irishman  smiled  fondly  upon  his 
stumpy  black  pipe. 

They  sat  and  talked  over  the  fire  (for 
a  fire  is  good  company  in  the  mountains, 
even  of  a  midsummer  evening)  with  that 
freedom  and  abandon  which  the  isolation, 
the  hour,  and  the  circumstances  begot. 
Kerry  had  told  his  name,  his  birthplace, 
the  habits  and  temperament  of  his  par 
ents,  his  present  hopes  and  aspirations — 
barring  one;  he  had  even  sketched  an 
outline  of  Katy — Katy,  who  was  waiting 
for  him  to  save  enough  to  buy  that  little 
farm  in  the  West ;  and  his  host,  listening 
in  the  unbroken  silence  of  deep  sym 
pathy,  had  not  yet  offered  even  so  much 
as  his  name. 

Then  the  bed  was  divided,  a  bundle 
of  fern  and  pine  boughs  being  disposed 
in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  cave  for 
the  newcomer's  accommodation.  Later, 
after  good-nights  had  been  exchanged 
and  Kerry  fancied  that  his  host  was 
asleep,  he  himself  stirred,  sat  up,  and 


8  Harper's  Novelettes 

being  in  uneasy  need  of  information 
as  to  whether  the  cave  door  should  not 
be  stopped  in  some  manner,  opened  with 
a  hesitating,  "  Say!" 

"You  might  jest  call  me  Andy,"  the 
deep  voice  answered,  before  the  mountain- 
man  negatived  the  proposition  of  adding 
a  front  door  to  the  habitation. 

Kerry  slept  again.  Mountain  air  and 
weariness  are  drugs  potent  against  a  bad 
conscience,  and  it  was  broad  daylight  out 
side  the  cave  when  he  wakened.  He  was 
a  little  surprised  to  find  his  host  still 
sleeping,  yet  his  experience  told  him 
tfeat  the  wound  was  of  a  nature  to  induce 
fever,  followed  by  considerable  exhaus 
tion.  As  the  Irishman  lifted  his  coat 
from  where  he  had  had  it  folded  into  a 
bundle  beneath  his  head,  the  handcuffs  in. 
the  pocket  clicked,  and  he  frowned.  He 
stole  across  to  look  at  the  man  who  had 
called  himself  Andy,  lying  now  at  ease 
upon  his  bed  of  leaves,  one  great  arm 
underneath  his  head,  the  injured  hand 
nursed  upon  his  broad  breast.  Those  big 
eyes  which  had  so  appalled  Kerry  upon  a 
first  view  yesterday  were  closed.  The  on 
looker  noted  with  a  sort  of  wonder  how 
sumptuous  were  the  fringes  of  their  cur 
tains,  long  and  purple  -  black,  like  the 
thick,  arched  brows  above.  To  speak 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot        9 

truly,  Kerry,  although  he  was  a  respect 
able  member  of  the  police  force,  had  the 
artistic  temperament.  The  harmony  of 
outline,  the  justness  of  proportion  in  both 
the  face  and  figure  of  the  man  before  him, 
filled  the  Irishman  with  delight;  and  the 
splendid  virile  bulk  of  the  mountain-man 
appealed  irresistibly  to  the  other's  mas 
culinity.  The  little  threads  of  silver  in 
the  tempestuous  black  curls  seemed  to 
Kerry  but  to  set  off  their  beauty. 

"Gosh!  but  you're  a  good-looker!"  he 
muttered.  And  putting  his  estimate  of 
the  man's  charm  into  such  form  as  was 
possible  to  him,  he  added,  under  his 
breath,  "  I'd  hate  to  have  sech  a  feller  as 
you  tryin'  to  court  my  Katy." 

This  was  the  first  of  many  strange 
days;  golden  September  days  they  were, 
cool  and  full  of  the  ripened  beauty  of 
the  departing  summer.  Kerry's  host 
taught  him  to  snare  woodcock  and  pheas 
ants — shoot  them  the  Irishman  could  not, 
since  the  excitement  of  the  thing  made 
him  fire  wild. 

"Now  ain't  that  the  very  divil!" 
he  would  cry,  after  he  had  let  his  third 
bird  get  away  unharmed.  "Ef  I  was 
shootin'  at  a  man,  I'd  be  as  stiddy 
as  a  clock.  Gad!  I'd  be  cool  as  an 
ice-wagon.  But  when  that  little  old 


io  Harper's  Novelettes 

brown  chicken  scoots  a-scutterin'  up  out 
o'  the  grass  like  a  hummin'-top,  it  rat 
tles  me."  His  teacher  apparently  took 
no  note  of  the  significance  contained  in 
this  statement;  yet  Kerry's  very  ears 
were  red  as  it  slipped  out,  and  he  felt 
uneasily  for  the  handcuffs,  which  no  long 
er  clinked  in  his  pocket,  but  now  lay 
carefully  hidden  under  his  fern  bed. 

There  had  been  a  noon-mark  in  the 
doorway  of  the  cave,  thrown  by  the 
shadow  of  a  boulder  beside  it,  even  be 
fore  the  Irishman's  big  nickel  watch 
came  with  its  bustling,  authoritative  tick 
to  bring  the  question  of  time  into  the 
mountains.  But  the  two  men  kept  un 
certain  hours:  sometimes  they  talked 
more  than  half  the  night,  the  close- 
cropped,  sandy  poll  and  the  unshorn  crest 
of  Jove-like  curls  nodding  at  each  other 
across  the  fire,  then  slept  far  into  the 
succeeding  day;  sometimes  they  were  up 
before  dawn  and  off  after  squirrels — with 
which  poor  Kerry  had  no  better  luck  than 
with  the  birds.  Every  day  the  Irishman 
dressed  his  host's  hand;  and  every  day 
he  tasted  more  fully  the  charm  of  this 
big,  strong,  gentle,  peaceful  nature  clad 
in  its  majestic  garment  of  flesh. 

"If  he'd   'a'   been   an   ugly,   common- 
looking  brute,  I'd   'a'  nabbed  him  in  a 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      n 

minute,"  he  told  himself,  weakly.  'And 
every  day  the  handcuffs  under  the  dried 
fern-leaves  lay  heavier  upon  his  soul. 

On  the  20th  of  September,  which 
Kerry  had  set  for  his  last  day  in  the 
cave,  he  was  moved  to  begin  again  at  the 
beginning  and  tell  the  big  mountaineer 
all  his  affairs. 

"Ye  see,  it's  like  this,"  he  wound 
up :  "  Katy  —  the  best  gurrl  an7  the 
purtiest  I  ever  set  me  two  eyes  on — 
she's  got  a  father  that  '11  strike  her 
when  the  drink's  with  him.  He  works 
her  like  a  dog,  hires  her  out  and  takes 
every  cent  she  earns.  Her  mother — God 
rest  her  soul! — has  been  dead  these  two 
years.  And  now  the  old  man  is  a-marryin' 
an'  takin'  home  a  woman  not  fit  fer  my 
Katy  to  be  with.  I  says  when  I  heard 
of  it,  says  I:  'Katy,  I'll  take  ye  out  o' 
that  hole.  I'll  do  the  trick,  an'  I'll  git 
the  reward,  an'  it's  married  we'll  be  in 
side  of  a  month,  an'  we'll  go  West.' 
That's  what  brought  me  up  here  into  the 
mountains  —  me  that  was  born,  as  ye 
might  say,  on  the  stair-steps  of  a  tene 
ment-house,  an'  fetched  up  the  same." 

Absorbed  in  the  interest  of  his  own 
affairs,  the  Irishman  did  not  notice  what 
revelations  he  had  made.  Whether  or 
not  this  knowledge  was  new  to  his  host 


12  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  uncertain  light  of  the  dying  fire 
upon  that  grave,  impassive  face  did  not 
disclose. 

"  An'  now,"  Kerry  went  on,  "  I've  been 
thinkin'  about  Katy  a  heap  in  the  last 
few  days.  I'm  goin'  home  to  her  to- 
morry — home  to  Philadelphy — goin'  with 
empty  hands.  An'  I'm  a-goin'  to  say  to 
her,  i  Katy,  would  ye  rather  take  me  jest 
as  I  am,  out  of  a  job ' — fer  that's  what 
I'll  be  when  I  go  back, — '  would  ye 
rather  take  me  so  an'  wait  fer  the  little 
farm?'  I  guess  she'll  do  it;  I  guess 
she'll  take  me.  I've  got  that  love  fer 
her  that  makes  me  think  she'll  take  me. 
Did  ye  ever  love  a  woman  like  that?" — 
turning  suddenly  to  the  silent  figure  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fire.  "  Did  ye  ever 
love  one  so  that  ye  felt  like  ye  could  jest 
trust  her,  same  as  you  could  trust  your 
self?  It's  a — it — well,  it's  a  mighty 
comfortable  thing." 

The  mountaineer  stretched  out  his  in 
jured  hand,  and  examined  it  for  so  long 
a  time  without  speaking  that  it  seemed 
as  though  he  would  not  answer  at  all. 
The  wound  was  healing  admirably  now; 
he  had  made  shift  to  shoot,  with  Kerry's 
shoulder  for  a  rest,  and  their  larder  was 
stocked  with  game  once  more.  When 
he  at  last  raised  his  head  and  looked 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      13 

across  the  fire,  his  black  eyes  were  such 
wells  of  misery  as  made  the  other  catch 
his  breath. 

Upon  the  silence  fell  his  big,  serious 
voice,  as  solemn  and  sonorous  as  a  church- 
bell:  "You  ast  me  did  I  ever  love  an' 
trust  a  woman  like  that.  I  did — an'  she 
failed  me.  I  ain't  gwine  to  call  you  fool 
fer  sich;  you're  a  town  feller,  Dan,  with 
smart  town  ways;  mebby  your  gal  would 
stick  to  you,  even  ef  you  was  in  trouble; 
but  me—" 

Kerry  made  an  inarticulate  murmur 
of  sympathy. 

The  voice  went  on.  "You  say  you're 
goin'  home  to  her  with  jest  your  two 
bare  hands  ?"  it  inquired.  "  But  why  fer  ? 
You've  found  your  man.  What  makes 
you  go  back  that-a-way  ?" 

Kerry's  mouth  was  open,  his  jaw  fallen ; 
he  stared  through  the  smoke  at  his  host 
as  though  he  saw  him  now  for  the  first 
time.  Kerry  belongs  to  a  people  who  love 
or  hate  obviously  and  openly;  that  the 
outlaw  should  have  known  him  from  the 
first  for  a  police  officer,  a  creature  of 
prey  upon  his  track,  and  should  have 
treated  him  as  a  friend,  as  a  brother,  ap 
palled  and  repelled  him. 

"  See  here,  Dan,"  the  big  man  went 
on,  leaning  forward;  "I  knowed  what 


14  Harper's  Novelettes 

your  arrant  was  the  fust  minute  I 
clapped  eyes  on  you.  You  didn't  know 
whether  I  could  shoot  with  my  left  hand 
as  well  as  my  right — I  didn't  choose  you 
should  know.  I  watched  fer  ye  to  be 
tryin'  to  put  handcuffs  on  me  any  min 
ute  —  after  you  found  my  right  hand 
was  he'pless." 

"  Lord  A'mighty !  You  could  lay  me 
on  my  back  with  your  left  hand,  Andy," 
Kerry  breathed. 

The  big  man  nodded.  "  They  was 
plenty  of  times  when  I  was  asleep — or  you 
thort  I  was.  Why  didn't  ye  do  it?  Where 
is  they?  Fetch  ?em  out." 

Unwilling,  red  with  shame,  penetrated 
with  a  grief  and  ache  he  scarce  compre 
hended,  Kerry  dragged  the  handcuffs 
from  their  hiding-place.  The  other  took 
them,  and  thereafter  swung  them  thought 
fully  in  his  strong  brown  fingers  as 
he  talked. 

"  You  was  goin'  away  without  makin* 
use  o'  these  ?"  he  asked,  gently. 

Kerry,  crimson  of  face  and  moist  of 
eye,  gulped,  frowned,  and  nodded. 

"  Well,  now,"  the  mountain-man  pur 
sued,  "  I  been  thinkin'  this  thing  over 
sence  you  was  a-speakin'.  That  there  gal 
o'  yourn  she's  in  a  tight  box.  You're 
the  whitest  man  I  ever  run  up  ag'inst. 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      15 

YouVe  done  me  better  than  my  own 
brothers.  My  own  brothers,"  he  repeated, 
a  look  of  pain  and  bitterness  knitting 
those  wonderfully  pencilled  brows  above 
the  big  eyes.  "  Fer  my  part,  I'm  sick  o' 
livin'  this-a-way.  When  you're  gone,  an' 
I'm  here  agin  by  my  lonesome,  I'm  as 
apt  as  not  to  put  the  muzzle  o'  my  gun 
in  my  mouth  an'  blow  the  top  o'  my  head 
off — that's  how  I  feel  most  o'  the  time. 
I  tell  you  what  you  do,  Dan:  you  jest 
put  these  here  on  me  an'  take  me  down 
to  Garyville — er  plumb  on  to  Asheville — 
an'  draw  your  money.  That  '11  square  up 
things  fer  you  an'  that  pore  little  gal. 
What  say  ye?" 

Into  Kerry's  sanguine  face  there 
surged  a  yet  deeper  red;  his  shoulders 
heaved;  the  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes;  and 
before  his  host  could  guess  the  root  of 
his  emotion  the  Irishman  was  sobbing, 
furiously,  noisily,  turned  away,  his  head 
upon  his  arm.  The  humiliation  of  it 
ate  into  his  soul;  and  the  tooth  was 
sharpened  by  his  own  misdeeds.  How 
many  times  had  he  looked  at  the  great, 
kindly  creature  across  the  fire  there  and 
calculated  the  chances  of  getting  him 
to  Garyville? 

Andy's  face  twisted  as  though  he  had 
bitten  a  green  persimmon.  "  Aw !  Don't 


1 6  Harpers  Novelettes 

cry!"  "he  remonstrated,  with  the  moun 
taineer's  quick  contempt  for  expressed 
emotion.  "  My  Lord !  Dan,  don't— 

"I'll  cry  if  I  damn  please!"  Kerry 
snorted.  "You  old  fool!  Me  a-drag- 
gin'  you  down  to  Garyville!  Me,  that's 
loved  you  like  a  brother!  An'  never  had 
no  thought — an'  never  had  no  thought — 
Oh,  hell !"  he  broke  off,  at  the  bitter  irony 
of  the  lie;  then  the  sobs  broke  forth 
afresh.  To  deny  that  he  had  come  to 
arrest  the  outlaw  was  so  pitifully  futile. 

"  So  ye  won't  git  the  money  that-a- 
way?"  Andy's  big  voice  ruminated,  and 
a  strange  note  of  relief  sounded  in  it; 
a  curious  gleam  leaped  into  the  sombre 
eyes.  But  he  added,  softly :  "  Sleep  on 
it,  bud;  I'll  let  ye  change  your  mind  in 
the  mornin'." 

"  You  shut  your  head !"  screeched  Ker 
ry,  fiercely,  with  a  hiccough  of  wrenching 
misery.  "  You  talk  to  me  any  more  like 
that,  an'  I'll  lambaste  ye — er  try  to — 
big  as  ye  are !  Oh,  damnation !" 

The  last  night  in  the  cave  was  one  of 
gusty,  moving  breezes  and  brilliant  moon 
light,  yet  both  its  tenants  slept  pro 
foundly,  after  their  strange  outburst  of 
emotion.  The  first  gray  of  dawn  found 
them  stirring,  and  Kerry  making  ready 
for  his  return  journey.  Together,  as 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      17 

heretofore,  they  prepared  their  meal,  then 
sat  down  in  silence  to  eat  it.  Suddenly 
the  mountain  -  man  raised  his  eyes,  to 
whose  grave  beauty  the  Irishman's  tem 
perament  responded  like  that  of  a  woman, 
and  said,  quietly, 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  ye  something  an' 
then  I'm  a-goin'  to  show  ye  somethin'." 

Kerry's  throat  ached.  In  these  two 
weeks  he  had  conceived  a  love  for  his  big, 
silent,  gentle  companion  which  rivalled 
even  his  devotion  to  Katy.  The  thought 
of  leaving  him  helpless  and  alone,  a  com 
mon  prey  of  reward-hunters,  the  remem 
brance  of  what  Andy  had  said  concerning 
his  own  despair  beneath  the  terrible 
pressure  of  the  mountain  solitude,  were 
almost  more  than  Kerry  could  bear. 

"Fust  and  foremost,  Dan,"  the  other 
began,  when  the  meal  was  finished,  "  I'm 
goin'  to  tell  ye  how  come  I  done  what  I 
done.  Likely  you've  hearn  tales,  an'  like 
ly  they  was  mostly  lies.  You  see,  it  was 
this-a-way:  Me  an'  my  wife  owned  land 
j'inin'.  The  Turkey  Track  Minin'  Com 
pany  they  found  coal  on  it,  an'  was  wish 
ful  to  buy.  Her  an'  me  wasn't  wed  then, 
but  we  was  about  to  be,  an'  we  j'ined  in 
fer  to  sell  the  land  an'  go  West."  His 
brooding  eyes  were  on  the  fire;  his  voice 
— which  had  halted  before  the  words 


1 8  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  my  wife,"  then  taken  them  with  a  quick 
gulp — broke  a  little  every  time  he  said 
"she"  or  "her."  Kerry's  heart  jumped 
when  he  heard  the  mention  of  that  little 
Western  farm — why,  it  might  have  been 
in  the  very  locality  he  and  Katy  looked 
longingly  toward. 

"  That  feller  they  sent  down  here  fer 
to  buy  the  ground  —  Dickert  was  his 
name;  you've  hearn  it,  I  reckon?" 

Kerry  recognized  the  murdered  man's 
name.  He  nodded,  without  a  word,  his 
little  blue  eyes  helplessly  fastened  on 
Andy's  eyes. 

"Yes,  Dickert  'twas.  He  was  took 
with  Euola  from  the  time  he  put  eyes  on 
her — which  ain't  sayin'  more  of  him  than 
of  any  man  'at  see  her.  But  a  town  fel 
ler's  hangin'  round  a  mounting-gal  hain't 
no  credit  to  her.  Euola  she  was  prom 
ised  to  me.  But  ef  she  hadn't  'a'  been, 
she  wouldn't  V  took  no  passin'  o'  bows 
an'  complyments  from  that  Dickert.  I 
thort  the  nighest  way  out  on't  was  to  tell 
the  gentleman  that  her  an'  me  was  to  be 
wed,  an'  that  we'd  make  the  deeds  as  man 
an'  wife,  an'  I  done  so." 

Kerry  looked  at  his  host  and  wondered 
that  any  man  should  hope  to  tamper  with 
the  affections  of  her  who  loved  him. 

"  Wed    we    was,"    the    mountain  -  man 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      19 

went  on;  and  an  imperceptible  pause  fol 
lowed  the  words.  "  We  rid  down  to 
Garyville  to  be  wed,  an'  we  went  from 
the  jestice's  office  to  the  office  of  this 
here  Dickert.  He  had  a  cuss  with  him 
that  was  no  better 'n  him;  an'  when  it 
come  to  the  time  in  the  signin'  that  our 
names  was  put  down,  an'  my  wife  was  to 
be  '  examined  privately  and  apart ' — ez 
is  right  an'  lawful  —  ez  to  whether  I'd 
made  her  sign  or  not,  this  other  cuss 
steps  with  her  into  the  hall,  an'  Dickert 
turns  an'  says  to  me,  '  You  git  a  thou 
sand  dollars  each  fer  your  land — you  an' 
that  woman,'  he  says. 

"  I  never  liked  the  way  he  spoke — be 
sides  what  he  said;  an'  I  says  to  him, 
'  The  bargain  was  made  fer  five  thousand 
dollars  apiece,'  says  I,  '  an'  why  do  we 
git  less?' 

" '  Beca'se,'  says  he,  a-swellin'  up  an' 
lookin'  at  me  red  an'  devilish, — '  beca'se 
you  take  my  leavin's — you  fool !  I  bought 
the  land  of  you  fer  a  thousand  dollars 
each — an'  there's  my  deed  to  it,  that  you 
jest  signed — I  reckon  you  can  read  it. 
Ef  I  sell  the  land  to  the  company — it's 
none  o'  your  business  what  I  git  fer  it.' 

"  Well,  I  can't  read — not  greatly.  I 
don't  know  how  I  knowed — but  I  did 
know; — that  he  was  gittin'  from  the  com- 


20  Harper's  Novelettes 

pany  the  five  thousand  dollars  apiece 
that  we  was  to  have  had.  I  seen  his  eye 
cut  round  to  the  hall  door,  an'  I  th9rt 
he  had  that  money  on  him  (beca'se  he 
was  their  agent  an'  they'd  trusted  him 
so  far)  fer  to  pay  me  and  Euola  in  cash. 
With  that  he  grabbed  up  the  deed  an' 
stuffed  it  into  his  pocket.  Lord!  Lord! 
I  could  'a'  shook  it  out  o'  him — an'  the 
money  too — hit's  what  I  would  'a'  done 
if  the  fool  had  'a'  kep'  his  mouth  shut. 
But  I  reckon  hit  was  God's  punishment 
on  him  'at  he  had  to  go  on  sayin',  '  Yes, 
you  tuck  my  leavin's  in  the  money,  an' 
you've  tuck  my  leavin's  agin  to-day.' 
Euola  was  jest  comin'  into  the  room  when 
he  said  that,  an'  he  looked  at  her. 
I  hit  him."  He  gazed  down  the  length' 
of  his  arm  thoughtfully.  "I  ort  to  be 
careful  when  I  hit  out,  bein'  stronger 
than  most.  But  I  was  mad,  an'  I  hit 
harder  than  I  thort.  I  reached  over  an* 
grabbed  open  the  table  drawer  jest  fer 
luck — an'  thar  was  the  money.  I  tuck 
it.  The  other  cuss  he  was  down  on  the 
floor,  sorter  whimperin'  an'  workin'  over 
this  feller  Dickcrt;  an'  he  begun  to  yell 
that  I'd  killed  'im.  With  that  Euola 
she  gives  me  one  look — white  ez  paper  she 
was — an'  she  says,  '  Run,  Andy  honey. 
I'll  git  to  ye  when  I  kin.' " 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      21 

The  mountain-man  was  silent  so  long 
that  Kerry  thought  he  was  done.  But 
he  suddenly  said: 

"  She  ketched  my  sleeve,  jest  ez  I  made 
to  start,  an'  said:  t  I'll  come,  Andy. 
Mind,  Andy,  I'll  come  to  ye,  ef  I  live.' " 
Then  there  was  the  silence  of  sympathy 
between  the  two  men. 

So  that  was  the  history  of  the  crime — 
a  very  different  history  from  the  one 
Kerry  had  heard. 

"Hit's  right  tetchy  business — er  has 
been— a-tryin'  to  take  Andy  Proudfoot," 
the  outlaw  continued;  "but,  Dan,  I'd  got 
mighty  tired,  time  you  come.  An' 
Euola— " 

Kerry  rose  abruptly,  the  memory  hot 
within  him  of  Proudfoot's  offer  of  the 
night  before.  The  mountaineer  got  slow 
ly  to  his  feet. 

"They's  somethin'  I  wanted  to  show 
ye,  too,  ye  remember,"  he  said.  They 
walked  together  down  the  bluff,  to  where 
another  little  cavern,  low  and  shallow,  hid 
itself  behind  huckleberry-bushes.  "  I  kep' 
the  money  here,"  Proudfoot  said,  kneel 
ing  in  the  cramped  entrance  and  delving 
among  the  rocks.  He  drew  out  a  roll 
of  bills  and  fingered  them  thoughtfully. 

"  The  reward,  now,  hit  was  fifteen  hun 
dred  dollars— with  what  the  State  an' 


22  Harper's  Novelettes 

company  both  give,  warn't  it?  Dan,  I 
was  mighty  proud  ye  wouldn't  have  it — I 
wanted  to  give  it  to  ye  this-a-way.  I 
don't  know  as  I've  got  any  rights  on 
Euola's  money.  T  reckon  I  mought  ax 
you  fer  to  take  it  to  her,  ef  so  be  you 
could  find  her.  My  half — you  kin  have 
it,  an'  welcome." 

Fear  was  in  Kerry's  heart.  "An* 
what  '11  you  be  doin'?"  he  inquired, 
huskily. 

"  Me  ?"  asked  Andy,  listlessly.  "  Euola 
she's  done  gone  plumb  back  on  me,"  he 
explained.  "I  hain't  heard  one  word 
from  her  sence  the  trouble,  an'  I've  got 
that  far  I  hain't  a-keerin'  what  becomes 
of  me.  I  like  you,  Dan;  I'd  ruther  you 
had  the  money — " 

"  Oh,  my  Gawd !  Don't,  Andy,"  choked 
the  Irishman.  "Let  me  think,  man,"  as 
the  other's  surprised  gaze  dwelt  on  him. 
Up  to  this  time  all  Kerry's  faculties  had 
been  engrossed  in  what  was  told  him,  or 
that  which  went  on  before  his  eyes. 
Now  memory  suddenly  roused  in  him. 
The  woman  he  had  seen  back  at  Ashe- 
ville,  the  woman  who  called  herself 
Mandy  Greefe,  but  whom  the  police  there 
suspected  of  being  Andy  Proudfoot's 
wife,  whom  they  had  twice  endeavored, 
unsuccessfully,  to  follow  in  long,  secret 


Capture  of  Andy  Proudfoot      23 

excursions  into  the  mountains.  What 
was  the  story?  What  had  they  said? 
That  she  was  seeking  Proudfoot,  or  was 
in  communication  with  him ;  that  was  it ! 
They  had  warned  Kerry  that  the  woman 
was  mild-looking  (he  had  seen  her  pa 
tient,  wistful  face  the  last  thing  as  he 
left  Asheville),  but  that  she  might  do 
him  a  mischief  if  she  suspected  he  was  on 
the  trail  of  her  husband.  "My  Lord! 
Oh,  my  Lord !  W'y,  old  man,— w'y,  Andy 
boy!"  he  cried,  joyously,  patting  the 
shoulder  of  the  big  man,  who  still  knelt 
with  the  roll  of  money  in  his  hands, — 
"Andy,  she's  waitin'  fer  you — she's  true 
as  steel!  She's  ready  to  go  with  you. 
Yes,  an'  Dan  Kerry's  the  boy  to  git  ye  out 
o'  this  under  the  very  noses  o'  that  police 
an'  detective  gang  at  Asheville.  'Tis  you 
an'  me  that  '11  go  together,  Andy." 

Proudfoot  still  knelt.  His  nostrils 
flickered;  his  eyes  glowed.  "  Have  a  care 
what  you're  a-sayin',"  he  began,  in  a  low, 
shaking  voice.  "  Euola !  Euola !  You've 
saw  me  pretty  mild;  but  don't  you  be 
mistook  by  that,  like  that  feller  Dickert 
was  mistook.  Don't  you  lie  to  me  an' 
try  to  fool  me  'bout  her.  One  o'  them 
fellers  I  shot  had  me  half-way  to  Gary- 
ville,  tellin'  me  she  was  thar — sick — an' 
sont  him  fer  me." 


24  Harper's  Novelettes 

Kerry  laughed  aloud.  "Me  foolin* 
you !"  he  jeered.  "  'Tis  a  child  I've  been 
in  your  hands,  ye  black,  big,  still,  solemn 
rascal!  Here's  money  a-plenty,  an'  you 
that  knows  these  mountains — the  fur  side 
— an'  me  that  knows  the  ropes.  You'll 
lend  me  a  stake  f'r  the  West.  We'll  go 
together — all  four  of  us.  Oh  Lord!"  and 
again  tears  were  on  the  sanguine  cheeks. 


The  Level  of  Fortune 

BY   ABBY   MEGUIRE   ROACH 

SHE  was  the  ambition  of  the  younger 
girls    and    the    envy    of    the    less 
fortunate.     Bessie  Hall  had  every 
thing,  they  said. 

Her  prettiness,  indeed,  was  chiefly  in 
slender  plumpness  and  bloom.  But  it 
served  her  purpose  as  no  classic  mould 
would  have  done.  She  did  not  over 
estimate  it.  But  she  was  probably  better 
satisfied  with  it  than  with  most  of  those 
conditions  of  her  life  that  people  were 
always  telling  her  were  ideal.  They  spoke 
of  her  as  the  only  child  in  a  way  that 
implied  congratulations  on  the  undivided 
inheritance — and  that  reminded  her  how 
she  had  always  wanted  a  sister.  They 
talked  of  her  idyllic  life  on  a  blue-grass 
stock-farm  —  when  she  was  wheedling 
from  her  father  a  winter  in  Washington. 
They  envied  her  often  when  they  had 
the  very  thing  she  wanted — or,  at  least, 
she  didn't  have  it.  They  enlarged  on  her 


26  Harper's  Novelettes 

popularity,  and  she  answered,  "  Oh  yes, 
nice  boys,  most  of  them,  but — 

She  had  always  said,  "  When  I  marry," 
not  "if"  and  had  said  it  much  as  she 
said,  "When  I  grow  up."  And,  yes, 
she  believed  in  fate:  that  everybody  who 
belonged  to  you  would  find  you  out;  but 
— it  was  only  hospitable  to  meet  them 
half-way!  So  her  admirers  found  her 
in  the  beginning  hopefully  interested, 
and  in  the  end  rather  mournfully  un 
convinced.  Her  regret  seemed  so  gen 
uinely  on  her  own  account  as  well  as 
theirs  that  they  usually  carried  off  a 
very  kind  feeling  for  her.  She  was  equal 
ly  open  to  enlistment  in  any  other  pro 
posed  diversion.  For  Bessie  lived  in  a 
constant  state  of  great  expectation  that 
something  really  nice  would  really  hap 
pen  to-morrow.  There  was  always  some 
thing  wrong  to-day. 

"  It's  not  fair !"  she  complained  to 
Guy  Osbourne,  when  he  came  to  tell  her 
good-by,  all  in  the  gray.  "  I'm  positively 
discriminated  against.  If  I  have  an  en 
gagement,  it's  sure  to  rain!  And  now 
just  when  I'm  beginning  to  be  a  grown 
young  lady,  with  a  prospect  at  last  of 
a  thoroughly  good  time,  a  war  has  to 
break  out!" 

Her  petulance  was  pretty.    Guy  laugh- 


The  Level  of  Fortune  27 

ed.  "  How  disobliging !"  he  sympathized. 
"  And  how  modest !"  he  added — which  the 
reader  may  disentangle;  Bessie  did  not. 
"At  last!"  he  mocked  her. 

For  Bessie  Hall,  whose  community 
already  moved  in  an  orbit  around  her, 
and  whose  parents  had,  according  to  a 
familiar  phrase,  an  even  more  circum 
scribed  course  around  her  little  finger — 
for  Bessie  Hall  to  rail  at  fate  was  de- 
liciously  absurd,  delightfully  feminine! 

When  Bessie  was  most  unreasonable 
one  only  wanted  to  kiss  her.  Guy's 
privileges  in  that  line  had  passed  with 
the  days  when  he  used  to  pick  up  bodily 
his  lithe  little  playfellow  to  cross  a  creek 
or  rain-puddled  road.  But  to-day  seemed 
pleasantly  momentous;  it  called  for  the 
unusual.  "I  say,  Bibi,  when  a  knight 
went  off  to  fight,  you  know,  his  lady  used 
to  give  him  a  stirrup-cup  at  good-by. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  really  sweet 
of  you — " 

She  held  off,  only  to  be  provoking.  She 
would  have  thought  no  more  of  kissing 
Guy  than  a  brother — or  she  thought  she 
wouldn't.  To  be  sure,  she  hadn't  for 
years;  there  was  no  occasion;  and  then, 
of  course,  one  didn't.  She  laughed  and 
shook  her  head,  and  retreated  laughing. 
And  he  promptly  captured  her.  .  .  .  She 


28  Harper's  Novelettes 

freed  herself,  suddenly  serious.  'And 
Guy  stood  sobered — sobered  not  at  going 
to  the  war,  but  at  leaving  her. 

"  There  now,  run  along." 

"Well,  good-by."  But  he  lingered. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  say,  but  he 
lingered.  "  Well,  good-by.  Be  good, 
Bibi." 

"  It  looks  as  if  that  was  all  I'd  have  a 
chance  to  be."  The  drawl  of  the  light 
voice  with  its  rising  inflection  was  so 
engaging,  no  one  called  it  nasaL  "And 
it's  so  much  more  difficult  and  important 
to  be  charming!" 

He  was  sobered  at  leaving  her,  but  he 
never  thought  of  not  going  with  the  rest. 
He  went,  and  all  the  rest.  And  Bessie 
found  herself,  just  when  nature  had 
crowned  her  with  womanhood,  a  princess 
without  a  kingdom.  To  be  sure,  living 
on  the  border  gave  her  double  oppor 
tunities,  and  for  contrasting  romances. 
There  were  episodes  that  comforted  her 
with  the  reflection  that  she  was  not  get 
ting  wholly  out  of  practice  in  the  arts. 
And  there  was  real  adventure  in  flying 
and  secret  visits  from  Guy  and  the  rest — 
Guy,  who  was  never  again  just  the  same 
with  her;  but,  for  that  matter,  neither 
was  she  just  the  same  with  him.  But, 
on  the  whole,  as  she  pouted  to  him  after- 


The  Level  of  Fortune  29 

ward,  she  wouldn't  call  that  four  years' 
war  exactly  entertaining ! 

The  Halls  personally  did  not  suffer  so 
deeply  as  their  neighbors  except  from 
property  loss.  All  they  could  afford,  and 
more,  they  gave  to  the  South,  and  the 
Northern  invader  took  what  was  left. 
When  there  was  nothing  left,  he  hacked 
the  rosewood  furniture  and  made  targets 
of  the  family  portraits,  in  the  mere  wan 
tonness  of  loot  that,  as  a  recriminative 
compliment,  cannot  be  laid  to  the  charge 
of  any  one  period  or  section.  Most  of 
the  farm  negroes  crossed  the  river.  Funds 
ran  low. 

There  had  been  ease  and  luxury  in  the 
family  always,  and  just  when  Bessie 
reached  the  time  to  profit  by  them  she 
remarked  that  they  failed. 

Even  if  the  Halls  were  not  in  mourn 
ing,  no  one  lives  through  such  a  time 
without  feeling  the  common  humanity. 
But  Bessie,  though  she  lingered  on  the 
brink  of  love  as  of  all  the  other  deeps 
of  life — curious,  adventurous,  at  once 
willing  and  reluctant — was  still,  in  the 
end,  quite  steady. 

When  the  war  was  over,  the  Halls  were 
poor,  on  a  competence  of  land  run  to 
waste,  with  no  labor  to  work  it,  and  no 
market  to  sell  it.  And  Mr.  Hall,  like 


30  Harper's  Novelettes 

so  many  of  his  generation,  was  too  ham 
pered  by  habit  and  crushed  by  remi 
niscence  to  meet  the  new  day. 

It  was  the  contrast  in  Guy's  spirit  that 
won  Bessie.  His  was  indeed  the  imme 
morial  spirit  of  youth— whether  it  be  of 
the  young  world,  or  the  young  male,  or 
the  young  South — to  accept  the  issue 
of  trial  by  combat  and  give  loyalty 
to  one  proved  equally  worthy  of  sword 
or  hand. 

"We're  whipped,"  he  told  her,  "and 
that  settles  it.  Now  there's  other  work 
for  us  than  brooding  over  it.  All  the 
same,  the  South  has  a  future,  Bibi,  and 
that  means  a  future  for  you  and  me." 

"Not  in  the  manufacture  of  poetry, 
I'm  afraid,"  she  laughed.  "  You  dropped 
a  stitch." 

She  did  not  seem  to  take  his  prow 
ess,  either  past  or  to  come,  very  seri 
ously;  and  her  eyebrows  and  her  inflec 
tion  went  up  at  the  assumption  of  the 
"  we  "  in  his  plans.  But — she  listened. 

His  definiteness  was  itself  effective. 
She  herself  did  not  know  what  she  want 
ed.  Something  was  wrong;  or  rather, 
everything  was.  She  was  finding  life 
a  great  bore.  But  what  would  be  right, 
she  couldn't  say,  except  that  it  must 
be  different. 


The  Level  of  Fortune  31 

Guy  looked  sure  and  seasoned  as  he 
poured  out  his  plans;  and  together  with 
the  maturing  tan  and  breadth  from  his 
rough  life,  there  was  an  unconquerable 
boyishness  in  the  lift  of  his  head  and 
the  light  of  his  eyes. 

"This  enthusiasm  is  truly  beautiful!" 
she  teased. 

It  was,  in  truth,  infectious. 
Why!    it    was    love    she    had    wanted. 
The    four    years    had    been    so    empty- 
without  Guy. 

She  went  into  it  alert,  receptive, 
optimistic.  But  it  nettled  her  that  every 
body  should  be  so  congratulatory,  and 
nobody  surprised.  It  wasn't  what  she 
would  call  ideal  for  two  impoverished 
young  aristocrats  to  start  life  on  noth 
ing  but  affection  and  self-confidence. 

It  did  seem  as  if  the  choicest  fruit 
always  came  to  her  specked. 

"  Never  mind,"  Guy  encouraged  her. 
"Just  give  me  ten  years.  It  will  be  a 
little  hard  on  you  at  first,  Bibi  dear,  I 
know,  but  it  would  be  harder  at  your 
father's  now.  And  it  won't  be  long !" 

There  was  only  one  comment  of  whose 
intention  Bessie  was  uncertain :  "  So  Guy 
is  to  continue  carrying  you  over  the  bad 
places,  Bessie?" 

Hm!     She  had  been  thinking  it  rather 


32  Harper's  Novelettes 

a  fine  thing  for  her  to  do.  And  that 
appealed  to  her. 

"  And  think  what  an  amusing  anec 
dote  it  will  make  after  a  while,  Guy, — 
how,  with  all  your  worldly  goods  tied 
up  in  a  red  bandanna,  and  your  wife  on 
your  arm  instead  of  her  father's  door 
step,  you  set  out  to  make  your  fortune, 
and  to  live  meanwhile  in  the  City  of  Un- 
Brotherly  Love !" 

But  Bessie  had  the  standards  of  an 
open-handed  people  to  whom  economy 
was  not  a  virtue.  There  had  always  been 
on  her  mother's  table  for  every  meal 
"salt-risin'  light  bread"  and  corn  pone 
or  griddle-cakes,  half  a  dozen  kinds  of 
preserves,  the  staples  in  proportion.  Her 
mother  would  have  been  humiliated  had 
there  been  any  noticeable  diminution  in 
the  supply  when  the  meal  was  over;  and 
she  and  the  cook  would  have  had  a 
council  of  war  had  a  guest  failed  to  eat 
and  praise  any  single  dish. 

Bessie  had  not  realized  how  inglorious 
their  meagreness  would  be,  until  Mrs. 
Grey,  at  the  daughter's  table,  grew  unc 
tuously  reminiscent  about  the  mother's. 

"Dear  me!"  Guy  tried  afterward  to 
comfort  the  red  eyelids  and  tremulous 
lips,  "  do  you  want  a  table  so  full  it 
takes  your  appetite  at  sight  2" 


The  Level  of  Fortune  33 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  joke  about  dis 
grace!"  Bessie  quivered. 

"But,  Bibi  dear,  Mrs.  Grey  is  simply 

behind  the  times.    The  rationale  of  those 

»  enormous  meals  was  not  munificence,  but 

that  a  horde  of  house-servants  had  to  be 

fed  at  a  second  table." 

Certainly  Guy  and  his  good  spirits 
were  excellent  company.  And  Bessie 
came  of  a  race  of  women  used  to  gay 
girlhoods  and  to  settling  down  thereafter, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  into  the  best  of 
house-mothers. 

But  there  was  a  difference  between 
the  domestic  arts  she  had  been  taught 
as  necessary  to  the  future  lady  of  a  large 
household  and  the  domestic  industries 
she  had  to  practise.  Supervising  and 
doing  were  not  the  same.  For  her  moth 
er,  sewing  and  cooking  had  been  accom 
plishments  ;  for  her  they  were  work.  She 
had  to  do  things  a  lady  didn't  do. 

However,  she  was  as  fastidious  about 
what  she  did  for  herself  as  about  what 
was  done  for  her.  She  was  quick  and 
efficient.  People  said  Bessie  Osbourne 
had  the  dearest  home  in  town,  was  the 
best  housekeeper,  the  most  nicely  dressed 
on  nothing.  You  might  know  Bessie  Hall 
would  have  the  best  of  everything ! 

And  when  Bessie  began  to  wonder  if 

3      S.L. 


34  Harper's  Novelettes 

that  was  true,  she  had  entered  the  last 
circle  of  disappointment. 

The  fact  was  that,  after  the  first  novelty, 
things  seemed  pretty  much  the  same  as  be 
fore.    Bessie  Osbourne  was  not  so  different 
from  Bessie  Hall.    She  might  have  appre 
ciated  that  as  significant;  but  doubtless  she 
had  never  heard  the  edifying  jingle  of  the 
unfortunate  youth  who  "wandered  over 
all  the  earth  "  without  ever  finding  "  the 
land  where  he  would  like  to  stay,"  and 
all  because  he  was  injudicious  enough  to 
take    "his    disposition   with    him    every 
where  he  went."     It  was  as  if  she  had 
been  going  in  a  circle  from  right  to  left, 
and,  after  a  blare  of  drums  and  trumpets 
and  a  stirring  "About— face!"  she  had 
found  herself  going  in  the  same  circle 
from  left  to  right.     It  all  came  to  the 
same  thing,  and  that  was  nothing.     Guy 
was  apparently  working  hard;  but,  after 
all,   in   real  life  it  seemed  one  did  not 
plant  the  adepts'  magic  seed  that  sprout 
ed,  grew,  bloomed,  while  you  looked  on 
for  a^moment.     For  herself,  baking  and 
stitching  took  all  her  time,  without  tak 
ing  nearly   all   her   interest,   or   seeming 
to  matter  much  when  all  was  said  and 
done.    If  she  neglected  things,  they  went 
undone,  or  some  one  else  did  them;   in 
any  case  Guy  never  complained.     If  she 


The  Level  of  Fortune  35 

did  what  came  up,  each  day  was  filled 
with  meeting  each  day's  demands.  All 
their  lives  went  into  the  means  and 
preparation  for  living.  Other  people — 
Or  was  it  really  any  different  with  them  ? 
Nine-tenths  of  the  people  nine-tenths  of 
the  time  seemed  to  accomplish  only  a 
chance  to  exist.  She  had  heard  women 
complain  that  such  was  the  woman's  lot 
in  order  that  men  might  progress.  But 
it  struck  her  very  few  men  worked  be 
yond  the  provision  of  present  necessities, 
either.  Was  it  all  a  myth,  then — happi 
ness,  experience,  romance?  Was  this  all 
there  was  to  life  and  love?  What  was 
the  sense,  the  end?  Her  dissatisfaction 
reproached  the  Cosmos,  grew  to  that 
Weltschmerz  which  is  merely  low  spirits 
and  reduced  vitality,  not  "  an  infirmity 
of  growth." 

She  constantly  expected  perfection,  and 
all   that   fell   below   it   was   its    opposite  / 
extreme,   and   worthless.      She   began    to 
suspect  herself  of  being   an   exceptional 
and  lofty  nature  deprived  of  her  dues. 

Guy  was  a  little  disappointed  at  her 
prudent  objection  to  children  until  their 
success  was  established.  Prudence  was 
mere  waste  of  time  to  his  courage  and 
assurance.  And  he  believed,  though  with 
out  going  into  the  psychology  of  the 


36  Harper's  Novelettes 

situation,  that  Bessie  would  be  happier 
with  a  child  or  two. 

"  Oh,  how  can  we  do  any  more  ?"  she 
answered,  in  her  pretty,  spoiled  way. 
"  We're  trying  to  cut  a  two-yard  garment 
out  of  a  one-yard  piece  now."  At  least, 
she  was;  and  so  Guy  was. 

Well,  it  wasn't  a  great  matter  yet.  It 
is  not  in  the  early  years  of  marriage  that 
that  lack  is  most  felt.  And  Bessie  was 
not  very  strong;  she  never  seemed  really 
well  any  more.  She  developed  a  succes 
sion  of  small  ailments,  lassitudes,  nerves. 
She  dragged  on  the  hand  of  life,  and 
complained.  The  local  physician  drugged 
her  with  a  commendable  spirit  of  opti 
mism  and  scientific  experiment.  But  the 
drawl  of  the  light  voice  with  its  rising 
inflection  became  distinctly  a  whine. 

She  got  a  way  of  surprising  Guy  and 
upsetting  his  calculations  with  unan 
nounced  extravagances.  "  What's  the 
good  of  all  this  drudgery  ?  We're  making 
no  headway,  getting  nowhere;  we  mightJ 
as  well  have  what  good  we  can  as  we 
go  along." 

There  was  a  negro  woman  in  the 
kitchen  now,  and  in  the  sitting-room  one 
of  the  new  sewing-machines.  And  Guy, 
who,  so  far,  had  been  only  excavating 
for  the  cellar  of  his  future  business 


The  Level  of  Fortune  37 

house,  was  beginning  to  feel  that  good 
foundation  walls  were  about  to  start. 

But,  even  when  peevish,  Bessie  had  a 
way  of  turning  up  her  eyes  at  him  that 
reduced  hiih  to  helplessness  and  adora 
tion.  And  she  was  delicate !  "  I  know," 
he  sympathized  with  her  loyally,  "  it's 
like  trying  to  work  and  be  jolly  with 
a  jumping  tooth ;  or  rather,  in  your  case, 
with  a  constant  buzzing  in  your  head." 

The  jumping  tooth  was  his  own  simile. 
The  headaches  that  had  begun  while  he 
was  soldiering  were  increasing.  He  had 
intermittent  periods  of  numbness  in  the 
lower  half  of  his  body.  It  was  annoying 
to  a  busy  man.  He  could  offer  no  ex 
planation,  nor  could  the  doctors.  "  Over 
work,"  they  suggested,  and  advised  the 
cure  that  is  of  no  school — "  rest."  That 
was  "  impossible."  Besides,  it  was  all 
nonsense.  He  put  it  aside,  went  on,  kept 
it  from  Bessie. 

The  end  came,  as  it  always  does,  even 
after  the  longest  expectation,  with  a  rush. 
He  was  suffering  with  one  of  his  acute 
headaches  one  night,  when  Bessie  fell 
asleep  beside  him.  She  woke  sudden 
ly,  with  no  judgment  of  time,  with  a 
start  of  terror,  a  sense  of  oppression, 
or — death  ? 

"  Guy !"  she  screamed. 


3&  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  strangeness  of  his  answering  voice 
only  repeated  the  stab  of  fear.  She  was 
on  her  feet,  had  made  a  light.  .  .  . 

He  was  not  suffering  any  more.  Ho 
was  perfectly  conscious  and  rational. 
But  from  the  waist  down  he  could  not 
move  nor  feel. 

The  doctors  came  and  talked  a  great 
deal  and  said  little;  they  reminded  them 
that  not  much  was  known  of  this  sort  of 
thing;  they  would  be  glad  to  do  what 
they  could.  .  .  . 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  this  is  per 
manent?  Paralyzed?  I?  Oh,  absurd!" 
Awful  things  happened  to  other  peo 
ple,  of  course — scandal,  death — but  to 
one's  self—  "Oh,  it  doesn't  sound  true! 
It  can't  be  true.  Paralyzed?  7?" 

And  Bessie  wondered  why  this  had  been 
sent  on  her. 

The  explanation  was  hit  on  long  aft 
erward,  when  in  one  of  his  campaign 
stories  Guy  mentioned  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  with  his  spine  against  a  rock,  that 
had  laid  him  unconscious  for  twenty- 
two  hours. 

And  so  the  war,  which  had  been  respon 
sible  for  their  starting  together  with 
only  a  past  and  a  future,  was  responsible 
for  their  having  shortly  only  a  past. 
Guy  was  not  allowed  his  ten  years. 


The  Level  oi  Fortune  39 

Though  he  had  now  less  actual  pain, 
the  shock  seemed  to  jar  the  foundations 
of  his  life,  and  the  sharp  change  in  the 
habits  of  an  active  and  vigorous  body 
seemed  to  wreck  his  whole  system.  For 
.months  and  months  and  months  he 
seemed  only  a  bundle  of  exposed  nerves — 
that  is,  where  he  had  any  movement  or 
sensation  at  all. 

Now  a  past,  however  escutcheoned  and 
fame-enrolled,  is  even  more  starvation 
diet  than  a  future  of  affection  and  self- 
confidence.  No  help  was  to  be  had  from 
either  of  their  homes;  it  was  the  day  of 
self-help  for  all. 

Bessie  wondered  why  this  had  been 
sent  on  her,  but  she  took  a  couple  of 
boarders  at  once,  she  sold  sponge-cake 
and  beaten  biscuit,  she  got  up  classes 
in  bread-making.  And  Guy  stopped  her 
busy  passing  to  draw  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
or  watched  her  with  dumb  eyes. 

Several  of  her  friends,  after  trying  her 
sewing-machine,  then  still  something  of 
a  novelty,  ordered  duplicates.  Guy  sug 
gested  as  a  joke  that  she  charge  the 
makers  a  commission. 

"  The  idea  of  trading  on  friendship !" 
Bessie  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Guy  reflected, 
more  seriously.  "  How  about  these 


4°  Harper's  Novelettes 

boarders,  then?  That's  trading  on  hos 
pitality." 

It  was  one  of  those  minute  flashes  of 
illumination  that,  multiplied  and  col 
lected,  become  the  glow  of  a  new  light, 
the  signal  of  a  revolution.  The  country 
was  full  of  them  in  those  days.  The  old 
codes  were  melting  in  the  heat  of  change. 
Standards  were  fluid.  Personally,  it 
ended  in  Bessie's  selling  machines,  first 
in  her  town,  then  in  neighboring  ones. 

In  the  restlessness  that  youth  thinks 
is  aspiration  for  the  ideal,  particularly 
for  the  ideal  love,  is  a  large  element  of 
craving  for  place  and  interest.  After 
her  marriage,  at  least,  Bessie  might  have 
had  enough  of  both;  but  the  obvious  pur 
pose  was  too  limited  to  appeal  to  her. 
Now  two  appetites  and  the  four  seasons 
supplied  motive  enough  for  industry. 
There  was  nothing  magnificent  in  this1 
manifest  destiny,  but  it  had  the  advan 
tage  of  being  imperative  and  constant. 
It  was  no  small  tax  on  her  acquired 
delicacy,  but  it  gave  less  time  for  hunt 
ing  symptoms.  It  did  not  answer  the 
Whence,  Whither,  and  Why;  it  pointedly 
changed  the  subject.  Her  work  began  to 
carry  her  out  of  herself. 

"Bibi  dear,  what  a  sorry  end  to  all 
my  promises!" 


The  Level  of  Fortune  4* 

She  had  been  thinking  just  that  her 
self,  with  a  sense  of  injury  and  imposi 
tion;  and  she  was  used  all  her  life  to 
having  people  see  everything  as  she  saw 
it,  from  her  side  only.  But  Guy  had  just 
turned  over  to  his  few  creditors  the  hole 
in  the  ground  into  which  so  far  most  of 
his  work  had  gone.  "  Bibi  dear,  what 
a  sorry  end  to  all  my  plans!"  was  what 
she  expected  him  to  say.  And  what 
he  did  say  and  what  he  didn't,  met 
surprised  in  her  mind  and  surveyed 
each  other. 

"Oh,  Guy!"  she  deprecated,  suddenly 
ashamed.  For  the  first  time  it  occurred 
to  her  to  wonder  why  this  had  been  sent 
on  him.  With  a  rush  of  remorseful  sym 
pathy  and  appreciation,  she  slipped  down 
beside  his  chair.  "  My  poor  old  boy !" 

He  clung  to  her  like  a  drowning  man 
— Guy,  who,  after  the  first  single  cry  at 
the  blow,  had  been  so  self-contained  (or 
self-repressed?)  through  it  all! 

She  remembered  that  she  had  omitted 
a  good  many  things  lately. 

"  You're  tired  to-day,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  am."  She  caught  at  it  hur 
riedly  with  apologetic  self-defence.  "  I'm 
pretty  constantly  tired  lately.  And  this 
morning  Mrs.  Grey  was  so  trying.  She 
doesn't  understand  her  machine,  and  she 


42  Harper's  Novelettes 

doesn't  understand  business,  and  she  was 
too  silly  and  stupid.  I  don't  wonder  you 
men  laugh  at  us  and  don't  want  us  in 
your  affairs !" 

"It's  all  hard  on  you,  Bibi."  There 
was  a  lump  in  his  voice.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  been  able  to  speak  of  it. 

"  Yes ;"  her  own  throat  was  so  strained 
that  for  a  moment  she  could  not  go  on. 
"  But,"  it  struck  her  again,  "  I  don't  sup 
pose  an  unbiased  observer  would  think  it 
exactly  festive  for  you." 

And,  to  be  sure,  when  one  came  to 
think  of  it,  how,  pray,  was  he  to  blame  ? 

From  that  day  there  began  to  be  more 
than  necessity  to  her  work,  and  more  than 
work  to  carry  her  out  of  herself. 

In  the  present  of  commercial  feminin 
ity  we  have  two  types — one,  the  business 
man;  the  other,  an  individual  without 
gender,  impersonal,  capable.  She  never 
does  anything  ill-bred,  certainly,  but  one 
no  more  thinks  of  specifying  that  she 
is  a  lady  than  that  her  hair  is  black;  it 
isn't  the  point. 

Mrs.  Osbourne,  however,  was  always 
first  of  all  a  lady.  With  her,  men  kept 
their  hats  off  and  their  coats  on,  and  had 
an  inclination  to  soften  business  with 
bows,  and  bargains  with  figures  of  speech. 
She  was  at  once  so  patrician  and  so 


The  Level  of  Fortune  43 

gracious  that  women  felt  it  a  kind  of 
social  function  to  deal  with  her.  The 
drawl  of  the  light  voice  with  its  rising 
inflection  was  only  gently  plaintive.  The 
pretty  way  was  winning,  and  rather  pa 
thetic  in  her  position;  it  drifted  about 
her  an  aroma  of  story,  and  that  had  its 
own  appeal.  The  unvarying  black  of 
dress  and  bonnet,  with  touches  of  white 
at  neck  and  wrist,  was  refined,  and 
made  her  rosy  plumpness  look  sweeter. 
It  was  all  an  uninventoried  part  of 
her  stock  in  trade.  And  she  came 
to  take  the  same  satisfaction  in  re 
turns  in  success  and  cash  that  she  had 
taken  as  a  girl  in  results  in  valentines 
and  cotillion  favors. 

Mrs.  Osbourne  had  all  the  traditions 
of  her  class  and  generation.  She  let  her 
distaste  of  the  situation  be  known.  If 
it  had  been  possible,  she  would  have  con 
cealed  it  like  a  scandal.  As  it  was,  with 
very  proud  apology,  she  made  the  ne 
cessity  of  her  case  understood:  her  ob 
ject  was  bread  and  butter,  not  any  of 
these  new  Woman's  Eights — unwoman 
ly,  bourgeoise! 

Nevertheless,  it  was  not  only  true  that 
it  suited  her  to  be  doing  something  with 
some  point  and  result,  but  that  the  life 
of  action  and  influence  among  people 


44  Harper's  Novelettes 

suited  her.  The  work  came  to  interest 
her  for  itself  as  well  as  for  its  object; 
that  interest  was  a  factor  in  her  success; 
and  the  success  again  both  stimulated 
and  further  equipped  her. 

As  she  got  into  training  and  over  the 
first  sore  muscles  of  mind  and  body,  work 
began  to  strengthen  her.  The  nerves  and 
small  ailments  grew  secondary,  were  over 
looked,  actually  lessened.  There  need  be 
nothing  esoteric  in  saying  that  a  vital 
interest  in  life  is  as  essential  to  health 
as  to  happiness.  One  need  consider  only 
the  practical  and  physical  effects  of  in 
terest  and  self  -  forgetfulness,  serenity 
and  self-resource. 

Sometimes  her  increasing  trade  took 
her  away  for  two  or  three  days,  as  far 
as  Louisville  or  Cincinnati.  The  thought 
of  Guy  followed  her,  a  sweet  pain.  She 
found  herself  hurrying  back  to  her  bright 
prisoner,  and  because  of  both  conditions 
the  marvel  of  that  brightness  grew  on 
her,  together  with  certain  embarrassed 
comparisons.  More  than  anything  else, 
she  admired  his  strength  where  she  had 
been  weak. 

His  brightness  seemed  to  her  the  most 
pathetic  thing  about  him;  it  was  so  sor 
ry.  It  was  indeed  the  epitome  of  his 
tragedy.  To  be  as  unobtrusive  as  pos- 


The  Level  of  Fortune  45 

sible,  and,  when  necessarily  in  evidence, 
as  pleasant  as  possible,  was  the  role  he 
had  assigned  himself.  It  was  the  one 
thing  he  could  do,  the  only  thing  he 
could  do  for  her. 

Doubtless  the  very  controlling  of  the 
nervousness  helped  it.  Moreover,  his  re 
volting  organization  was  gradually  adapt 
ing  itself  somewhat  to  the  new  conditions. 
Sensitive  and  uncertain  tendrils  of  vital 
ity  began  to  creep  out  from  the  roots  of 
a  blighted  vigor. 

Bessie,  increasingly  perceptive,  began 
to  suspect  that  what  she  saw  was  the 
brightness  after  the  storm.  She  wonder 
ed  what  his  long  solitary  hours  were  like 
when  she  was  away.  What  must  they  be, 
with  him  helpless,  disappointed,  lonely, 
liable  to  maddening  attacks  of  nerves? 
But  he  assured  her  that  he  was  perfectly 
comfortable;  Mammy  Dinah  was  faithful 
and  competent ;  and  he  was  really  making 
headway  with  the  German  and  French 
that  he  had  taken  up  because  he  could 
put  them  down  as  need  was,  and  because 
— they  might  come  in,  in  some  way,  some 
time.  "  In  heaven  ?"  Bessie  wondered 
secretly,  but,  enlightened  by  her  own  ex 
perience,  saw  the  advantage  of  his  be 
ing  entertained. 

"You're   too   much    alone,"   she   said, 


46  Harper's  Novelettes 

i 

feeling  for  the  trouble.  "  And  so  am  I," 
she  added,  thoughtfully.  She  should 
have  noticed  his  eyes  at  that  last.  He  had 
developed  a  sort  of  controlled  voracity 
for  endearment,  but  he  never  asked  for 
it.  In  the  old  days  he  had  taken  his 
own  masterfully,  with  no  doubts.  Now 
he  waited.  He  did  not  starve.  She 
cajoled  him  and  coaxed  his  appetite  and 
patted  the  pillows,  and  made  pretty, 
laughing  eyes  at  him  and  fate  quite  in 
her  habitual  manner.  Her  touch  and 
tone  of  affection  had  never  been  so  free. 
But  in  that  very  fact  he  found  an 
other  sting. 

"  The  better  I  do  on  the  road,  the  more 
they  keep  me  out,"  she  was  saying.  "  We 
can't  go  on  this  way.  I've  been  thinking 
lately —  Could  you  bear  to  go  North, 
Guy,  and  to  live  in  a  city,  among  stran 
gers?  Perhaps  at  headquarters  there 
might  be  an  opening  for  me  that  would 
let  me  settle  down." 

"What!  Cincinnati!  Is  there  any 
such  chance  ?" 

"You'd  like  it?  Why  on  earth- 
Are  you  so  bored  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  Bibi,  have  you  never  thought  of 
it?  In  a  city  there'd  be  some  chance 
of  something  I  could  do!" 

"You?      Oh,    Guy!"      After    she    had 


The  Level  of  Fortune  47 

accepted  the  care  of  him,  and  that  so 
pleasantly,  he  wasn't  satisfied  !  "  Is  there 
anything  you  lack  here  ?"  She  was  hurt. 
,  It  was  replaying  the  old  parts  reversed. 
Once  he  had  grieved  that  he  could  not 
give  her  enough  to  content  her. 

"  A — h —  He  turned  his  head  away 
and  flung  an  arm  up  over  his  eyes. 

She  understood  only  that  he  was  suf 
fering.  "But,  Guy,  there's  nothing  you 
could  do,  possibly.  It's  not  to  be  ex 
pected.  Have  I  complained?"  She  fell 
back  on  the  kindly  imbecility  of  the 
nurse.  "  Now  you're  not  to  worry  about 
that,  at  least  until  you're  better — " 

"Better?"  He  forgot  the  lines  in 
which  he  had  schooled  himself.  The  man 
overrode  the  amateur  actor.  "  That's  not 
the  thing  to  hope  for.  Why  couldn't  it 
have  killed  me— that  first  fall?"  ("My 
dear,  my  dear !"  she  stammered.)  "  There 
would  have  been  some  satisfaction  in  get 
ting  out  of  the  way,  and  that  in  decent 
fashion ;  like  a  charge  of  powder,  not  like 
a  rubbish-heap.  I  can't  accept  it  of  you, 
Bibi.  I'm  enraged  for  you.  I  can't  be 
grateful.  I'm  ashamed." 

She  understood  now. 

What  could  she  say?  A  dozen  things, 
and  she  did;  things  about  as  satisfying 
as  theology  at  the  grave.  He  did  not  an- 


48  Harper's  Novelettes 

swer  nor  respond.  When  he  relaxed  at 
last  it  was  simply  to  her  arms  around 
him,  his  head  on  her  bosom,  her  wordless 
notes  of  tenderness  and  consolation. 

He  was  suffering,  and  chiefly  for  her, 
and  what  a  fighter  he  was!  Who  but 
he  would  ever  have  thought  of  his  do 
ing  anything  ? 

So  there  might  be  cases  in  which  it  was 
really  more  helpful  and  generous  not  to 
do  things  for  people,  but  to  let  them  do 
for  themselves.  She  couldn't  fancy  his 
doing  enough  to  amount  to  anything.  He 
oughtn't  to!  But  if  it  would  make  him 
any  happier  he  should  have  his  make- 
believe — yes,  and  without  knowing  it  was 
make-believe.  Doing  things  that  were  of 
no  value  to  any  one  was  so  disheartening. 
She  knew.  Like  perfunctory  exercise  for 
your  health. 

Her  own  business  in  Cincinnati  proved 
so  brief  as  to  take  her  breath.  His  was 
more  difficult.  The  plough  was  still 
mightier  than  either  sword  or  pen.  Few 
markets  were  open  to  an  inactive  man 
whose  hours  must  be  short  and  irregular, 
and  whose  chief  qualifications  seemed  to 
be  a  valiant  spirit  and  a  store  of  remi 
niscences,  in  a  time  when  reminiscences 
were  as  easy  to  get  as  advice. 

She  was  delayed  in  her  return,  growing 


The  Level  of  Forttme  49 

more  and  more  anxious  at  the  thought 
of  his  anxiety.  When  she  boarded  the 
south -bound  train,  she  went  down 
the  aisle,  looking-  for  a  seat,  with  her 
short  steps  hurried  as  if  it  would  get  her 
home  sooner. 

Mrs.  Grey  leaned  over  and  motioned 
her,  and  as  she  sat  down,  looked  crit 
ically  at  the  bright  eyes  and  pink 
cheeks.  "You  certainly  do  look  well 
nowadays,  Bessie." 

Doubtless  Bessie's  color  was  partly 
excitement  and  rush. 

"  Oh,  I'm  well,"  absently. 
"Funny  kind  of  dyspepsia,  wasn't  it, 
to  be  cured  by  eating  around,  the  way 
you  have  to  do." 

"  Oh,  dyspepsia !"  The  nettles  brought 
back  her  attention.  People  needn't  be 
little  her  troubles!  "I  still  have  that 
dyspepsia.  But  if  you  had  to  be  as  busy 
as  I,  Mrs.  Grey,  you'd  know  that  there 
are  times  when  nothing  but  sudden  death 
can  interfere."  Even  Mrs.  Grey's  prick 
ings,  however,  were  washed  over  to-day 
by  Balm  of  Gilead.  "  Still,  it  has  come 
to  something.  The  company  has  given 
me  Cincinnati  for  my  territory." 

"  Keally  ?"  Not  that  Mrs.  Grey  doubt 
ed  her  veracity.  "Well,  you  always  did 
succeed  at  anything  you  put  your  hand 


4 


50  Harper's  Novelettes 

to.  It  has  been  the  most  surprising 
thing!  You  know,  I  tell  everybody, 
Bessie,  that  you  deserve  all  the  credit 
in  the  world  for  the  way  you  have  taken 
hold."  Bessie  stiffened ;  neither  need  they 
sympathize  too  much !  "  A  girl  brought 
up  as  you  were,  who  always  had  the 
best  of  everything."  The  ~best  of  every 
thing!  The  familiar  phrase  was  like  a 
bell,  sending  wave  after  wave  of  memory 
singing  through  Bessie's  mind.  "  And 
still  1  never  saw  any  one  to  whom  the 
wind  has  been  so  tempered  as  to  you: 
when  you  were  sick  you  could  afford  it, 
and  now  that  it's  inconvenient —  Things 
always  did  seem  to  work  smoother  with 
you,  and  come  out  better,  than  with  any 
of  the  rest  of  us." 

Bessie  sat  looking  at  her,  and,  in  the 
speech,  saw  her  own  petulance  of  a  mo 
ment  before — any  number  of  her  own 
speeches,  in  fact,  inverted,  as  things  are 
in  a  glass.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Grey  had  held 
up  a  reflector.  Bessie  had  met  herself. 
And  she  saw  herself,  as  in  a  mirror-maze, 
from  all  angles,  down  diminishing  per 
spectives,  from  the  woman  she  was  to  the 
girl  she  had  been. 

She  had  been  quite  unconscious  of  the 
slow  transformation  in  her  habits  of 
thought.  It  is  so  in  life.  One  toils 


The  Level  cf  Fortune  51 

up  the  thickly  wooded  hillside,  intent  only 
on  the  footing,  and  comes  suddenly  on 
a  high  clearing,  overlooking  valley  and 
path,  defining  a  new  horizon. 

"  I  never  had  the  best  of  everything, 
Mrs.  Grey,"  she  said.  "  Nobody  has. 
Every  life  and  every  situation  in  life 
has  its  bad  conditions — and  its  good  ones. 
I  haven't  had  any  more  happiness — nor 
trouble  than  most  people.  It  strikes  me 
things  are  pretty  equally  divided.  We 
only  think  they  aren't  when  we  don't 
know  all  about  it.  We  see  the  surface 
of  other  people's  lives,  not  their  private 
drawbacks  or  compensations.  There  are 
always  both.  But  other  people's  troubles 
are  so  much  easier  to  bear  than  our  own, 
their  good  luck  so  much  less  deserved 
and  qualified !  With  all  I  had  as  a  girl 
T  didn't  have  contentment.  And  now, 
with  all  I  lack,  I  don't  know  any  one 
with  whom  I'd  change  places." 

What  was  the  use  with  Mrs.  Grey? 

But  alone,  the  thought  kept  widening 
ring  after  ring:  How  little  choice  there 
was  of  conditions  in  life;  how  fortune 
tends  to  seek  its  level;  how  one  man  has 
the  meat  and  another  the  appetite;  and 
another,  without  either,  can  find  in  the 
fact  the  flavor  of  a  joke  or  chew  the  cud 
of  reflection  over  it.  Of  the  three,  Bessie 


52  Harper's  Novelettes 

thought  she  would  rather  be  the  one  with 
the  disposition.  But  that  could  he  cul 
tivated.  Look  at  hers!  Circumstances 
had  started  it  in  a  sort  of  aside,  but  she 
would  take  the  hint. 

The  cure  for  dissatisfaction  was  to 
recognize  one's  balance  of  good. 

Guy  was  watching  for  her  at  the  win 
dow.  She  was  half  conscious  that  he 
looked  unusually  haggard,  but  there  were 
so  many  other  thoughts  at  sight  of  him 
that  they  washed  over  the  first. 

She  swung  her  reticule.  "It's  all 
right!"  and  she  ran  up  the  walk,  a  most 
feminine  swirl  of  progress.  She  got  to 
him  breathless.  "  I've  found  a  house  that 
will  give  you  its  German  correspondence 
to  translate  and  write,  and  it  won't  be 
so  much  but  that  you  can  do  it  as  you're 
able,  within  reason.  Now,  sir !" 

For  a  minute  it  seemed  as  if  Guy's 
whole  body  was  alive.  The  weak  and 
shaken  invalid  still  had  something  of  un 
conquerable  boyishness  in  the  lift  of  his 
head  and  the  light  of  his  eyes.  "  Good ! 
That  will  do  for  a  start."  The  old  spirit, 
to  which  hers  always  answered.  If  she 
didn't  believe  he  would  actually  do  some 
thing  worth  while  in  the  end!  Then 
promptly,  of  old  habit,  he  thought  of  her. 
"  Bibi !  You  took  your  time  for  that." 


The  Level  of  Fortune  53 

"Not  all  of  it,  in  good  sooth,  fair 
lord."  She  spread  out  her  skirts,  lady- 
come-to-see  fashion,  and  strutted  across 
the  room.  "Mrs.  Osbourne  has  a  new 
'  job  '  and  a  '  raise.'  "  (Incidentally  Mrs. 
Osbourne  had  never  before  been  so  ad 
vanced  in  her  language.) 

"Bully  for  you!"  he  shouted,  so  gen 
uinely  that  she  ran  back  to  him  and 
shook  and  hugged  his  shoulders.  How 
she  liked  him ! 

"  What  a  thorough  girl  you  are,  Bibi  I" 

"  Oh,  and  to-day  I've  been  laughing 
at  myself;  as  silly  as  I  used  to  be,  count 
ing  so  much  on  a  mere  change  of  cir 
cumstances.  Of  course  something  un 
pleasant  will  develop  there  too.  But  at 
least  the  harness  will  rub  in  a  different 
place.  On  the  whole,  it  will  be  better. 
Guy,  do  you  know,  I  have  just  gotten  rid 
of  envy  and  discontent,  and  that  without 
endangering  ambition.  I'll  give  you  the 
charm;  it's  a  sort  of  cabalistic  spell — 
the  four  P's — Occupation,  Responsibil 
ity,  Purpose,  and  Philosophy." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  most  worth-while 
thing  in  life  is  to  feel  you  are  accom 
plishing  something  —  doing  your  work 
well  and  getting  proportionate  returns." 

The  tone  touched  her.  "Poor  old 
Guy!"  so  generously  congratulatory  of 


54  Harper's  Novelettes 

her  flaunted  advantages.  How  stupid 
she  was!  Poor  Guy!  her  pretty  creed 
scattered  at  a  breath  like  a  dead  dande 
lion-ball.  Envy  she  had  disposed  of,  but 
what  about  pity?  What  had  he  to  make 
up  ?  "  The  idea  of  my  talking  of  happi 
ness,  with  you  caged  here!" 

"  Perhaps  that  was  the  point  of  it  all," 
he  said,  "  to  give  you  your  chance." 

"That  would  be  a  beautifully  humble 
thing  for  me  to  think,  now  wouldn't  it?" 
Yet  she  had  once  complained  that  the 
point  of  it  all  was  to  interfere  with 
her.  "And  so  sweetly  generous.  Your 
chance  being — ?" 

"  To  serve  as  a  means  of  grace  to  you  ?" 
He  smiled.  "I  am  glad  to  be  of  some 
use — and  honored  to  be  of  that  one!" 
he  hurried  to  add,  elaborately  humorous. 

But  what  she  was  noticing  was  the 
flagging  effort  of  his  vivacity.  Her  half- 
submerged  first  impression  of  him  was 
coming  to  the  surface:  he  did  look  un 
usually  haggard.  "You  haven't  been 
good  while  I  was  away.  Now  don't  tell 
stories.  Don't  I  know  you?  No  more 
storms,  Guy !"  she  warned. 

His  eye  evaded  hers.  "I  am  seriously 
questioning  whether  you  ought  to  make 
this  change.  All  your  friends  are  here." 

"Oh,    as    to    that!      There    might    be 


The  Level  of  Fortune  55 

advantages  in  working  among  strangers. 
Mrs.  Grey  fairly  puts  herself  out  to  let 
me  understand  that  she  is  a  friend  in 
need !"  She  reined  herself  up,  recollecting, 
but  too  late.  "  Oh,  Guy,  don't  mind  so 
for  me.  Why,  the  South  is  full  of  wom 
en  doing  what  I  am,  only  so  many  of 
them  are  doing  it — without — the  Guys 
who  never  came  back!" 

"  Lucky  dogs !"  subterraneously.  Then, 
seeing  her  apprehensive  of  a  second  flare- 
up  of  that  volcanic  fire :  "  So  gentlemanly 
of  them,  too,  Bibi.  How  can  those  few 
years  of  love  be  worth  a  life  of  this 
to  you?" 

"  Those  few  years  ?  why,  Guy !  of  love  ? 
Is  that  how  you  feel?"  Her  eyes  filled; 
her  whole  face  quivered.  "  Oh,  Guy — 
be  willing  for  my  sake.  I  never  knew 
what  love  could  mean  until  lately." 

His  grasp  hurt  her  knuckles.  "  Yes, 
dear,  I  have  seen.  It's  very  sweet.  It's 
the  mother  in  you,  Bibi,  and  my  helpless 
ness.  Of  course!  What  could  a  woman 
love  in  a  dependent,  half-corpse  of  a 
no-man  ?" 

For  a  moment  she  was  too  surprised 
to  speak.  She  stared  at  him.  "  What  a 
notion!  and  it  isn't  true!  You  never 
were  any  more  a  man  than  you've  been 
through  these  two  dreadful  years."  She 


56  Harper's  Novelettes 

sounded  fairly  indignant.  "And  for  my 
part,  I  never  appreciated  what  you  were 
half  as  much." 

"  Love  doesn't  begin  with  a  P,"  he  re 
marked  to  the  opposite  wall. 

"But  what  do  you  suppose  the  pur 
pose  was?" 

"Love?" 

"More.    You." 

"You  never  told  me."  That  strange 
voice  and  averted  face ! 

"  How  should  I  fancy  you  wouldn't 
know?  I  had  never  thought  it  out  my 
self  until  just  now.  It  has  simply  been 
going  on  from  day  to  day,  as  natural 
and  quiet  as  growing —  A  bewildering 
illumination  was  spreading  in  her  mind. 
"  Look  here,  young  man " — she  forced 
his  face  around  to  see  it, — "  what  goblins 
have  you  been  hatching  in  the  night- 
watches  ?"  The  raillery  broke.  "  Dear, 
is  that  what  has  been  troubling  you?  Is 
there  anything  else?" 

He  looked  at  her  now.  "  Anything  else 
trouble  me,  if  I  really  have  you,  and  a 
chance  to  do  a  little  something  for  you  ?" 

It  was  their  apotheosis.  They  had 
never  known  a  moment  equal  to  it  be 
fore;  could  never  know  just  another  such 
again.  In  a  very  deep  way  it  was  the 
first  kiss  of  love  for  them  both. 


The  Level  of  Fortune  57 

Bessie  came  back  to  herself  with  that 
sense  of  arriving,  of  having  been  in 
finitely  away,  with  which  one  drops 
from  abstraction. 

Where  had  they  been  in  that  state  of 
absent  mind  ? 

It  was  as  if  they  had  met  out  of  time, 
space,  matter.  .  .  .  And  as  she  thought 
of  his  words,  in  the  light  of  his  eyes,  pity 
too  was  qualified,  and  that  without  en 
dangering  helpfulness.  He,  too,  had  his 
balance  of  good.  Yes,  things  squared 
in  the  end. 

Her  creed  was  quick.  The  scattered 
dandelion  seed  sprouted  all  around  her. 


Pap  Overholt 

BY   ALICE   MACGOWAN 

UP  and  down  the  long  corn  rows 
Pap  Overholt  guided  the  old  mule 
and  the  small,  rickety,  inefficient 
plough,  whose  low  handles  bowed  his  tall, 
broad  shoulders  beneath  the  mild  heat  of 
a  mountain  June  sun.  As  he  went — ever 
with  a  furtive  eye  upon  the  cabin — he 
muttered  to  himself,  shaking  his  head : 

"  Say  I  sha'n'  do  hit.  Say  he  don't 
want  me  a-ploughin'  his  co'n.  My  law! 
Whut  you  gwine  do?  Thar's  them  chil- 
len— thar's  Huldy.  They  got  to  be  fed— 
they  'bleeged  to  have  meat  and  bread. 
Ef  I  don't— 

Again  he  lifted  his  apprehensive  glance 
toward  the  cabin;  and  this  time  it  en 
countered  a  figure  stepping  from  the  low 
doorway — a  young  fellow  with  an  olive 
face,  delicately  cut  features,  black  curling 
hair,  the  sleep  still  lingering  in  his  dark 
eyes.  He  approached  the  fence  —  the 
sorry,  broken  fence, — put  his  hands  upon 
it,  and  called  sharply,  "Pap!" 


Pap  Overholt  59 

The  old  man  released  the  plough-han 
dles  and  came  toward  the  youth,  shrink 
ing  like  a  truant  schoolboy  called  up 
for  discipline. 

"Pap,  this  is  the  way  you  do  me  all 
the  time — come  an'  plough  in  my  co'n 
when  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  hit — 
when  I  don't  want  hit  done, — tryin'  to 
make  everybody  think  I'm  lazy  and  no 
'count.  Huldy  tellin'  me  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myse'f,  in  bed  while  my  po' 
old  pappy — 'at  hain't  ploughed  a  row  of 
his  own  for  years — is  a-gittin'  my  co'n 
outen  the  weeds." 

The  father  stood,  a  chidden  culprit. 
The  boy  had  worked  himself  up  to  the 
desired  point. 

"You  jest  do  hit  to  put  a  shame  on 
me.  Now,  Pap,  you  take  that  mule—" 

"W'y,  Sammy,  — w'y,  Sammy  honey, 
you  know  Pappy  don't  do  it  fer  nair 
sech  a  reason.  Hit  don't  look  no  sech  a 
thing — like  you  was  shif'less  an'  lazy. 
Hit  jes  look  like  Pappy  got  nothin'  to  do, 
an'  love  to  come  and  give  you  a  turn  with 
yo'  co'n;  an',  Sammy  honey," — the  good 
farmer  for  the  moment  getting  the  better 
of  the  timid,  soft-hearted  parent, — "hit 
is  might'ly  in  the  weeds,  boy.  Don't  you 
reckon  I  better  jes — " 

The  other  began,  "  I  tell  you — " 


60  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  There,  there !  Ne'mine,  Sammy.  Ef 
you  don't  want  Pappy  to  plough  no  mo', 
Pappy  Jes  gwine  to  take  the  plough 
right  outen  the  furrow  and  put  old  Beck 
up.  Pappy  gwine — 

The  boy  turned  away,  his  point  made, 
and  strolled  back  to  the  cabin.  The  old 
man,  murmuring  a  mixture  of  apologies, 
assurances,  and  expostulations,  went  pa 
thetically  about  the  putting  up  of  the 
mule,  the  setting  away  of  the  plough. 

Nobody  knew  when  Pap  Overholt  began 
to  be  so  called,  nor  when  his  wife  had 
received  the  affectionate  title  of  Aunt 
Cornelia.  It  was  a  naming  that  grew 
of  itself.  Forty  years  ago  the  pair  had 
been  married — Jcfhn,  a  sturdy,  sunny- 
tempered  young  fellow  of  twenty-one,  six 
feet  in  his  stockings,  broad  of  shoulder, 
deep  of  chest,  and  with  a  name  and  a 
nature  clean  of  all  tarnish;  Cornelia 
Blackshears,  a  typical  mountain  girl  of 
the  best  sort. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  first  year, 
old  Dr.  Pastergood,  who  had  ushered 
Cornelia  herself  into  this  world,  turned 
to  them  with  her  first  child  in  his  arms, 
the  young  father  stood  by,  controlling  his 
great  rush  of  primal  joy,  his  boyish  desire 
to  do  something  noisy  and  violent;  the 
mother  looked  first  at  her  husband,  then 


Pap  Overholt  6 1 

into  the  old  doctor's  face,  with  eyes  of 
passionate  delight  and  appeal.  He  was 
speechless  a  moment,  for  pity.  Then  he 
said,  gently: 

"  Hit's  gone,  befo'  hit  ever  come  to  us, 
Comely.  Hit  never  breathed  a  breath 
of  this  werrisome  world." 

A  man  who  had  practised  medicine  in 
the  Turkey  Tracks  for  twenty-five  years 
— a  doctor  among  these  mountain  people, 
where  poverty  is  the  rule,  hardship  a  con 
dition  of  life,  and  tragedy  a  fairly  fa 
miliar  element,  would  have  had  his  fibre 
well  stiffened.  The  brave  old  cam 
paigner,  who  had  sat  beside  so  many 
death-beds  and  so  many  birth-beds,  and 
had  seen  so  many  come  and  so  many 
go,  at  the  exits  and  entrances  of  life,  met 
the  matter  stoutly  and  without  flinching. 
His  stoic  air,  his  words  of  passive  accept 
ance,  laid  a  calm  upon  the  first  outburst 
of  bitter  grief  from  the  two  young 
creatures.  Later,  when  John  had  gone 
to  do  the  chores,  the  old  doctor  still  sat 
by  Cornelia's  bed.  He  took  the  girl's 
hand  in  his — an  unusual  demonstration 
of  feeling  for  a  mountaineer — and  said 
to  her,  gently, 

"  Cornely,  there  won't  never  be  no 
mo'  —  there'll  be  nair  another  baby  to 
you,  honey." 


62  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  stricken  girl  fastened  her  eyes 
upon  his  in  dumb  pain  and  protest.  She 
said  nothing,  the  wound  was  too  deep ; 
only  her  lips  quivered  pitifully  and  the 
tears  ran  down  upon  the  pillow. 

"  Now,  now,  honey,  don't  ye  go  to  fret 
that-a-way.  W'y,  Comely,  ye  was  made 
for  a  mother;  the  Lord  made  ye  for  such 
— an'  do  ye  'low  'at  He  don't  know  what 
He's  a-gwine  to  do  with  the  work  of  His 
hands  ?  '  For  mo'  air  the  children  of  the 
desolate  ' — don't  ye  know  Scripter  says  ? 
— than  of  them  that  has  many.  Lord  love 
ye,  honey,  girl,  you'll  be  mother  to  a  minny 
and  a  minny.  They  air  a-comin';  the 
Lord's  a-sendin'  'em.  W'y,  honey, — you 
and  John  will  have  children  gathered 
around  you — " 

The  one  cry  broke  forth  from  Cornelia 
which  she  ever  uttered  through  all  her 
long  grief  of  childlessness :  "  Oh,  but,  Dr. 
Pastergood,  I  wanted  mine — my  own — 
and  John's !  Oh,  I  reckon  it  was  idolatry 
the  way  I  felt  in  my  heart;  I  thought,  to 
have  a  little  trick — bone  o'  my  bone,  flesh 
o'  my  flesh — look  up  at  me  with  John's 
eyes —  '  A  sob  choked  her  utterance,  and 
never  again  was  it  resumed. 

In  the  years  that  followed,  the  pair — 
already  come  to  be  called  Pap  Overholt 
and  Aunt  Comely — well  fulfilled  the  old 


Pap  Overholt  63 

doctor's  prophecy.  The  very  next  year 
after  their  baby  was  laid  away,  John's 
older  brother,  Jeff,  lost  his  wife,  and  the 
three  little  children  Mandy  left  were 
brought  at  once  to  them,  remaining  in 
peace  and  welfare  for  something-  over  a 
year  (Jeff  was  a  circumspect  widower), 
making  the  place  blithe  with  their  laugh 
ter  and  their  play.  Then  their  father 
married,  and  they  were  taken  to  the  new 
home.  He  was  an  Overholt  too,  and 
shared  that  powerful  paternal  instinct 
with  John.  Three  times  this  thing  hap 
pened.  Three  times  Jeff  buried  a  wife, 
and  the  little  Jeff  Overholts,  with  re 
cruited  ranks,  were  brought  to  Aunt 
Cornelia  and  Pap  John.  When  Jeff  mar 
ried  his  fourth  wife — Zulena  Spivey,  a 
powerful,  vital,  affluent  creature,  of  an 
unusual  type  for  the  mountains, — and  the 
children  (there  were  nine  of  them  by 
this  time)  went  to  live  with  their  step 
mother,  whose  physique  and  disposition 
promised  a  longer  tenure  than  any  of 
her  predecessors,  Pap  and  Aunt  Cornelia 
sat  upon  the  lonely  hearth  and  assured 
each  other  with  tears  that  never  again 
would  they  take  into  their  home  and 
their  lives,  as  their  very  own,  any  chil 
dren  upon  whom  they  could  have  no 
sure  claim. 


64  Harper's  Novelettes 

"Tell  ye,  Comely,  this  thing  o'  wind- 
in'  yer  heart-strings  around  and  around 
a  passel  o'  chaps  for  a  year  or  so  and 
then  havin'  'em  tore  out — well,  hit  takes 
a  mighty  considerable  chunk  o'  yer  heart 
along  with  'em."  And  the  wife,  looking 
at  him  with  wet  eyes,  nodded  an  assent. 

It  was  next  May  that  Pap  Overholt, 
who  had  been  doing  some  hauling  over 
as  far  as  Big  Turkey  Track,  returned 
one  evening  with  a  little  figure  perched 
beside  him  on  the  high  wagon  seat. 
"  The  Lord  sent  him,  honey,"  he  said, 
and  handed  the  child  down  to  his  wife. 
"  He  ain't  got  a  livin'  soul  on  this  earth 
to  lay  claim  to  him.  He  is  ourn  as  much 
as  ef  he  was  flesh  and  bone  of  us.  I 
even  tuck  out  the  papers." 

That  evening,  the  two  sitting  watching 
the  little  dark  face  in  its  sleep,  Pap  told 
his  story.  Driving  across  the  flank  of 
Yellow  Old  Bald,  beyond  Lost  Cabin,  he 
had  passed  a  woman  with  five  children 
sitting  beside  the  road  in  Big  Buck  Gap. 

"  Comely,  she  looked  like  a  picture  out 
of  a  book,"  whispered  Pap.  "  This  chap's 
the  livin'  image  of  her.  Portugee  blood— 
a  touch  o'  that  melungeon  tribe  from 
over  in  the  Fur  Cove.  She  had  a  little 
smooth  face  shaped  like  a  aig;  that  curly 
hair  hangin'  clean  to  her  waist,  dark 


Pap  Overholt  65 

like  this  baby's,  but  with  the  sun  all 
through  it;  these  eyebrows  o'  his'n  that's 
lifted  in  the  middle  o'  his  forred,  like  he 
cain't  see  why  some  onkindness  was  did 
him;  and  little  slim  hands  and  feet;  all 
mighty  furrin  to  the  mountains.  I  give 
'er  a  lift — she  was  goin'  to  Hepzibah, 
huntin'  fer  some  kind  o'  charity  she'd 
heard  could  be  got  there;  and  this  little 
trick  he  tuck  to  me  right  then." 

The  woman  bent  over  and  looked  long 
at  the  small  olive  face,  so  delicately  cut, 
the  damp  rings  of  hair  on  his  forehead, 
the  tragic  lift  of  the  brows  above  the  nose 
bridge,  the  thin-lipped  scarlet  mouth. 
"My  baby,"  she  murmured;  then  lifted 
her  glance  with  the  question:  "  An'  how 
come  ye  to  have  him?  Did  she— did 
that  womern — " 

"No,  no.  ;Twas  this-a-way,"  Pap  in 
terrupted  her.  "  When  I  came  back  from 
Big  Turkey  Track,  I  went  down  through 
Hepzibah— I  couldn't  git  this  chap's  eyes 
— ner  his  little  hands — out  o'  my  head ;  I 
found  myse'f  a-studyin'  on  'em  the  hull 
enjurin'  time.  She  was  dead  when  I  got 
thar.  She'd  died  to  Squire  Cannon's,  and 
they  was  a  -  passellin'  out  the  chillen 
'mongst  the  neighbors.  No  sooner  I  put 
foot  on  the  po'ch  'n  this  little  soul  come 
a-runnin'  to  me,  an'  says:  *  W'y,  here's 

5      S.  L. 


66  Harper's  Novelettes 

my  pappy,  now.  I  tole  you-all  I  did  have 
a  pappy.  Now  look — see — here  he  is/ 
Then  he  peeked  up  at  me,  and  he  put  up 
his  little  arms,  an'  he  says,  jest  as  petted, 
and  yit  a  little  skeered,  he  says,  '  Take 
me,  pappy.'  When  I  tuck  him  up,  he 
grabbed  me  round  the  neck  and  dug  his 
little  face  into  mine.  Then  he  looked 
around  at  all  the  folks,  and  sort  o'  shiv 
ered,  and  put  his  face  back  in  my  neck 
— still  ez  a  little  possum  when  you've 
killed  the  old  ones  an'  split  up  the  tree 
an'  drug  out  the  nest." 

Both  faces  were  wet  with  tears  now. 
Pap  went  on :  "I  had  the  papers  made 
right  out — I  knowed  you'd  say  yes,  Cor- 
nely.  He's  Samuel  Ephraim  Overholt. 
A-comin'  home,  the  little  weenty  chap 
looks  up  at  me  suddent  an'  axes,  '  Is 
they  a  mammy  to  we-all's  house  whar  we 
goin'  now  ?'  Lord !  Lord !"  Pap  shook  his 
head  gently,  as  signifying  the  utter  in 
adequacy  of  mere  words. 

Little  Sammy  grew  and  thrived  in  the 
Overholt  home.  The  tiny  rootlets  of  his 
avid,  unconscious  baby  life  he  thrust  out 
in  all  directions  through  that  kind  soil, 
sucking,  sucking,  grasping,  laying  hold, 
drawing  to  him  and  his  great  little 
needs  sustenance  material  and  spiritual. 
More  keen  and  capable  to  penetrate  were 


Pap  Overholt  67 

those  thready  little  fibres  than  the  ir 
resistible  water-seeking  tap-root  of  the 
cottonwood  or  the  mesquite  of  the  plains ; 
more  powerful  to  clasp  and  to  hold  than 
the  cablelike  roots  of  the  rock-embracing 
cedar.  The  little  new  member  was  so 
much  living  sunshine,  gay,  witching, 
brilliant,  erratic  in  disposition  as  he  was 
singular  and  beautiful  in  his  form  and 
coloring,  but  always  irresistibly  endear 
ing,  dangerously  winning.  When  he  had 
been  Sammy  Overholt  only  two  weeks,  he 
sat  at  table  with  his  parents  one  day  and 
scornfully  rejected  the  little  plate  that 
was  put  before  him. 

"No!"  he  cried,  sharply.  "No,  no! 
I  won't  have  it — ole  nassy  plate !" 

"W'y,  baby!  W'y,  Sammy,"  depre 
cated  Cornelia,  "that's  yo'  own  little 
plate  that  mammy  washed  for  you.  You 
mustn't  call  it  naisty." 

"Hit  air  nassy,"  insisted  young 
Samuel.  "  Hit  got  'pecks — see !"  and  the 
small  finger  pointed  to  some  minute  flaw 
in  the  ware  which  showed  as  little  dots 
on  the  white  surface. 

Cornelia,  who,  though  mild  and  serene, 
was  possessed  of  firmness  and  a  sense  of 
justice,  would  have  had  the  matter  fairly 
settled.  "  He  ort  not  to  cut  up  this-a- 
way,  John,"  she  urged.  "  He  ort  to  take 


68  Harper's  Novelettes 

his  little  plate  and  behave  hisse'f ;  'r  else 
he  ort  to  be  spanked, — he  really  ort,  John, 
in  jestice  to  the  child." 

But  John  was  of  another  mould. 
"Law,  Comely!  Hit's  jest  baby-doin's. 
The  idee  o'  him  a-settin'  up  'at  yo'  dishes 
ain't  clean!  That  shore  do  beat  all!" 
And  he  had  executed  an  exchange  of 
plates  under  Cornelia's  deprecating  eyes. 
And  so  the  matter  went. 

Again,  upon  a  June  day,  Sammy  was 
at  play  with  the  scion  of  the  only  ne 
gro  family  which  had  ever  been  known 
in  all  the  Turkey  Track  regions.  The 
Southern  mountaineers  have  little  affinity, 
socially  or  politically,  with  the  people  of 
the  settlements.  There  were  never  any 
slaveholders  among  them,  and  the  few 
isolated  negroes  were  treated  with  almost 
perfect  equality  by  the  simple-minded 
mountain  dwellers. 

"  Sammy  honey,  you  an'  Jimmy  mus* 
cl'ar  up  yo'  litter  here.  Don't  leave  it 
on  mammy's  nice  flo'.  Hit's  mighty  nigh 
supper-time.  Cl'ar  up  now,  'fo'  Pap 
py  comes." 

Sammy  stiffened  his  little  figure  to  a 
startling  rigidity.  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
work!"  he  flung  out.  "Let  him  do  it; 
he's  a  nigger!"  And  this  was  the  last 
word  of  the  argument, 


Pap  Overholt  69 

This  was  Sammy — handsome,  graceful, 
exceedingly  winning,  sudden  and  pas 
sionate,  disdaining  like  a  young  zebra  the 
yoke  of  labor,  and,  when  crossed,  absolute 
ly  beyond  all  reason  or  bounds ;  the  life  of 
every  gathering  of  young  people  as  he 
grew  up;  much  made  of,  deferred  to, 
sought  after,  yet  everywhere  blamed  as 
undutiful  and  ungrateful. 

"  Oh,  I  do  p'intedly  wish  the  neighbors 
would  leave  us  alone,"  sighed  Pap  Over- 
holt,  when  these  reports  came  to  him. 
"  As  ef  I  didn't  know  what  I  wanted — 
as  ef  I  couldn't  raise  my  own  chile ;"  and 
as  he  said  this  he  ever  avoided  Aunt 
Cornelia's  honest  eye. 

It  was  when  Sammy  was  eighteen,  the 
best  dressed,  the  best  horsed — and  the 
idlest — to  be  found  from  Little  Turkey 
Track  to  the  Fur  Cove,  from  Tatum's  to 
Big  Buck  Gap — that  he  went  one  day, 
riding  his  sorrel  filly,  down  to  Hepzibah, 
ostensibly  to  do  some  errands  for  Aunt 
Cornelia,  but  in  fact  simply  in  search  of 
a  good  time.  The  next  day  Blev.  Straly, 
a  rifle  over  his  shoulder  and  a  couple  of 
hounds  at  heel,  stopped  a  moment  at  the 
chopping-block  where  Pap  was  splitting 
some  kindling. 

"I  was  a-passin',"  he  explained — "I 
was  jest  a-passin',  an'  I  'lowed  I'd  drap  in 


;o  Harper's  Novelettes 

an'  tell  ye  'bout  Sammy.  Hit  better  be  me 
than  somebody  'at  likes  to  carry  mean  tales 
and  wants  to  watch  folks  suffer."  Aunt 
Cornelia  was  beside  her  husband  now. 

"  No,  no,"  Blev.  answered  the  look 
on  the  two  faces ;  "  nothin'  ain't  the  mat 
ter  of  Sammy.  He's  jest  married — that 
little  Huldy  Frew  'at's  been  waitin'  on 
table  at  Aunt  Randy  Card's  ho-tel.  You 
know,  Aunt  Comely,  she  is  a  mighty 
pretty  little  trick — and  there  ain't  nothin' 
bad  about  the  gal.  I  jest  knowed  you  and 
Pap  'ud  feel  mighty  hurt  over  Sammy 
doin'  you-all  like  you  was  cruel  to  him 
— like  he  had  to  run  away  to  git  mar 
ried;  and  I  'lowed  I  better  come  and  tell 
you  fust." 

The  "little  Huldy  gal"  was,  as  Blev. 
Straly  had  described  her,  a  mighty  pretty 
little  trick,  and  nothing  bad  about  her. 
The  orphan  child  of  poor  mountaineers, 
bound  out  since  the  death  of  her  parents 
when  she  was  ten  years  old,  she  had  been 
two  years  now  working  for  Aunt  Randy 
Card,  who  kept  the  primitive  hotel  at 
Hepzibah.  Even  in  this  remote  region 
Huldy  showed  that  wonderful — that  irre 
pressible — upward  impulse  of  young  fem 
inine  America,  that  instinctive  affinity 
for  the  finer  things  of  life,  that  marvel 
lous  understanding  of  graces  and  refine- 


Pap  Overholt  71 

ments,  and  that  pathetic  and  persistent 
groping  after  them  which  is  the  marked 
characteristic  of  America's  daughters. 
The  child  was  not  yet  sixteen,  a  fair  lit 
tle  thing  with  soft  ashen  hair  and  honest 
gray  eyes,  the  pink  upon  her  cheek  like 
that  of  a  New  England  girl. 

At  first  this  marriage — which  had  been 
so  unkindly  conducted  by  Sammy,  used 
by  him  apparently  as  a  weapon  of  affront 
— seemed  to  bring  with  it  only  good, 
only  happiness.  The  boy  was  more  con 
tented  at  home,  less  wayward,  and  the 
feeling  of  apprehension  that  had  dwelt 
continually  in  the  hearts  of  Pap  and 
Aunt  Cornelia  ever  since  his  adolescence 
now  slept.  The  little  Huldy — her  own 
small  cup  apparently  full  of  happiness — 
was  all  affectionate  gratitude  and  do 
cility.  She  healed  the  bruises  Sammy 
made,  poured  balm  in  the  wounds  he  in 
flicted;  she  was  sunny,  obedient,  grateful 
enough  for  two. 

But  a  new  trait  was  developed  in 
Sammy's  nature — perversity.  Life  was 
made  smooth  to  his  feet;  the  things  he 
needed — even  the  things  which  he  mere 
ly  desired — were  procured  and  brought  to 
him.  Love  brooded  above  and  around 
him — timid,  chidden,  but  absolute,  ador 
ing.  Nothing  was  left  him — no  occupa- 


72  Harper's  Novelettes 

tion  was  offered  for  his  energies — but  to 
resent  these  things,  to  quarrel  with  his 
benefits.  And  now  the  quarrel  began. 

Its  outcome  was  this:  Toward  the  end 
of  the  first  year  of  the  marriage,  upon 
a  bleak,  forbidding  March  day — a  day 
of  bitter  wind  and  icy  sleet,— there  rode 
one  to  the  Overholt  door  who  called  upon 
Pap  and  Aunt  Cornelia  to  hitch  up  and 
come  with  all  possible  haste  to  old  Eph'm 
Blackshears,  Cornelia's  father  —  a  man 
who  had  lived  to  fourscore,  and  who  now 
lay  at  his  last,  asking  for  his  daughter, 
his  baby  chile,  Comely. 

For  days  Sammy  had  been  in  a  very  ill- 
promising  mood;  but  he  brightened  as  the 
foster-parents  drove  away  in  the  bleak, 
gray,  hostile  forenoon,  Huldy  helping 
Aunt  Cornelia  to  dress  and  make  ready, 
tucking  her  lovingly  into  the  wagon  and 
beneath  the  thick  old  quilt. 

The  elder  woman  yearned  over  the  girl 
with  a  mother's  compassionate  tender 
ness.  Both  Aunt  Cornelia  and  Pap 
John  looked  with  a  passionate,  delighted 
anticipation  to  when  they  would  have 
their  own  child's  baby  upon  their  hearth. 
It  was  the  more  notable  marks  of  this 
tenderness,  of  this  joyous  anticipation, 
which  Sammy  had  begun  to  resent — the 
gifts  and  the  labors  showered  upon  the 


Pap  Overholt  73 

young  wife  in  relation  to  her  coming 
importance,  which  he  had  barely  come 
short  of  refusing  and  repelling.  "  Whose 
wife  is  she,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Looks  like 
I  cain't  do  nothin'  for  my  own  woman 
— a-givin'  an'  a-givin'  to  Huldy,  like  she 
was  some  po'  white  trash,  some  beggar!" 
But  he  had  only  "  sulled,"  as  his  mother 
called  it,  never  quite  able  to  reach  the 
point  he  desired  of  actually  flinging  the 
care,  the  gifts,  and  the  loving  labors  back 
in  the  foster-parents'  faces. 

Pappy  Blackshears  passed  away  quietly 
in  the  evening;  and  when  he  had  been 
made  ready  for  his  grave  by  Cornelia's 
hands,  her  anxiety  for  the  little  daughter 
at  home  would  not  let  her  remain  longer. 

"  I'm  jest  'bleeged  to  go  to  Huldy,''  she 
explained  to  the  relatives  and  neighbors 
gathered  at  the  old  Blackshears  place. 
"  I  p'intedly  dassent  to  leave  her  over  one 
night — and  not  a  soul  with  her  but  Sam 
my,  and  he  nothin'  but  a  chile — and  not 
a  neighbor  within  a  mild  of  our  place — 
and  sech  a  night !  Pap  and  me  we'll  hitch 
up  an'  mak'  'as'e  back  to  Huldy.  We'll 
be  here  to  the  funeral  a  Sunday — but  I 
dassent  to  stay  away  from  Huldy  nair 
another  hour  now."  And  so,  at  ten 
o'clock  that  bitter  night,  Pap  and  Aunt 
Cornelia  came  hurrying  home. 


74  Harper's  Novelettes 

As  the  wagon  drove  up  the  mountain 
trail  to  the  house,  the  hounds  came  bell 
ing  joyously  to  meet  them;  but  no  light 
gleamed  cheerfully  from  the  windows ;  no 
door  was  flung  gayly  open;  no  little 
Huldy  cried  out  her  glad  greeting. 
Filled  with  formless  apprehensions,  Pap 
climbed  over  the  wheel,  lifted  Cornelia 
down,  and  dreading  they  knew  not  what, 
the  two  went, — holding  by  each  other's 
hand,  —  opened  the  door,  and  entered, 
shrinking  and  reluctant.  They  blew  the 
smouldering  coals  to  a  little  flame,  piled 
on  light-wood  till  the  broad  blaze  rolled 
up  the  chimney,  then  looked  about.  No 
living  soul  was  in  any  room.  Finally 
Cornelia  caught  sight  of  a  bit  of  paper 
stuck  upon  the  high  mantel.  She  tore 
it  down,  and  the  two  read  slowly  and 
laboriously  together  the  few  lines  written 
in  Sammy's  hand: 

"  I  ain't  going  to  allow  my  wife  to  live 
off  any  man's  charity.  I  ain't  going  to 
be  made  to  look  like  nothing  in  the  eyes 
of  people  any  longer.  I've  taken  my  wife 
to  my  own  place,  where  I  can  support 
her  myself.  I  had  to  borrow  your  ox 
cart  and  steers  to  move  with,  and  Huldy 
made  me  bring  some  things  she  said 
mother  had  give  her,  but  I'll  pay  all  this 


Pap  Overholt  75 

back,  and  more,  for  I  intend  to  be  inde 
pendent  and  not  live  on  any  man's  bounty. 
Kespectfully,  your  son, 

SAMUEL." 

The  two  old  faces,  pallid  and  grief- 
struck,  confronted  each  other  in  the 
shaken  radiance  of  the  pine  fire. 

"  Oh,  my  po'  chile,  my  po'  little  Huldy ! 
Whar?  His  own  place!  My  law! — 
whar  ?  Whar  has  he  drug  that  little  soul  ?" 

An  intuition  flashed  into  Pap  Over- 
holt's  mind.  He  grasped  his  wife's  arm. 
"Wy,  Comely,"  he  cried,  "hit's  that 
cabin  on  The  Bench!  Don't  ye  know, 
honey?  I  give  him  that  land  when  he 
was  sixteen  year  old, — time  he  brung  the 
prize  home  from  the  school  down  in 
the  settlemint." 

"  The  Bench!  Oh,  Lord— The  Bench! 
Wy,  hit  '11  be  the  death  of  her.  John, 
we  cain't  git  to  her  too  quick."  And  she 
ran  from  cupboard  to  press,  from  press 
to  chest,  from  chest  to  bureau  drawer, 
piling  into  John's  arms  the  flask  of 
brandy,  the  homely  medicines,  the  warm 
garments,  such  bits  of  food  as  she  could 
catch  up  that  were  palatable  and  portable. 
Pap,  with  more  vulnerable  emotions  and 
less  resolute  nature,  was  incapable  of 
speech;  he  could  only  suffer  dumbly. 


76  Harper's  Novelettes 

Arrived  at  the  abandoned  cabin  on  The 
Bench,  the  picture  that  greeted  them 
crushed  Pap's  soft  heart  to  powder,  but 
roused  in  Aunt  Cornelia  a  rage  that 
would  have  resulted  in  a  sharp  settlement 
with  Sammy,  had  it  not  been  that,  now 
as  always,  to  reach  the  offender  a  blow 
must  go  through  that  same  pitiful  heart 
of  John's.  The  young  people  had  not  long 
been  at  the  cabin  when  the  parents  ar 
rived.  The  little  Huldy,  moaning  pite- 
ously,  with  a  stricken,  terrified  look  in 
her  big,  childish  eyes,  was  crouched 
upon  the  floor  beside  a  rickety  chair. 
Sammy,  sullen  and  defiant,  was  at  the 
desolate  hearth,  fumbling  with  unskilled 
hands  at  the  sodden  chunks  of  wood  he 
had  there  gathered. 

The  situation  was  past  words.  Pap, 
after  one  look  at  Huldy,  went  about  the 
fire-building,  the  slow  tears  rolling  down 
his  cheeks.  While  Aunt  Cornelia  brought 
the  bedding,  the  warm  blankets  and  wrap 
pings,  and  made  the  little  suffering  crea 
ture  a  comfortable  couch,  Pap  wrought 
at  the  forlorn,  gaping  fireplace  like  a 
suffering  giant.  When  the  leaping  flames 
danced  and  shouted  up  the  chimney  till 
the  whole  cabin  was  filled  with  the  phys 
ical  joy  of  their  light  and  warmth,  when 
steaming  coffee  and  the  hastily  fetched 


Pap  Overholt  77 

food  had  been  served  to  the  others,  and 
the  little  wife  lay  quietly  for  the  moment, 
the  two  elders  talked  together  outside 
where  a  corner  of  the  cabin  cut  off  the 
driving  sleet.  Then  Sammy  was  in 
cluded,  and  another  council  was  held, 
this  time  of  three. 

No.  He  would  not  budge.  That  was 
his  wife.  A  fellow  that  was  man  enough 
to  have  a  wife  ought  to  be  man  enough 
to  take  keer  of  her.  He  wasn't  going 
to  have  his  child  born  in  the  house  of 
charity.  There  was  no  thoroughfare. 
Sammy  was  allowed  to  withdraw,  and 
the  council  of  two  was  resumed.  As  a 
result  of  its  deliberations,  Pap  John 
drove  away  through  the  darkness  and  the 
sleet.  By  midnight  two  trips  had  been 
made  between  the  big  double  log  house 
at  the  Overholt  place  and  the  wretched 
cabin  on  The  Bench,  and  all  that  Sammy 
would  suffer  to  be  brought  to  them  or 
done  for  them  had  been  brought  and  done. 
The  cabin  was,  in  a  very  humble  way, 
inhabitable.  There  was  food  and  a  small 
provision  for  the  immediate  present. 
And  here,  upon  that  wild  March  night 
of  screaming  wind  and  sleet,  and  with 
only  Aunt  Cornelia  as  doctor  and  nurse, 
Huldy's  child  was  born. 

And  now  a  new  order  of  things  began. 


78  Harper's  Novelettes 

Sammy's  energies  appeared  to  bo  devoted 
to  the  thwarting  of  Pap  Overholt's  care 
and  benefits.  There  should  be  no  cow 
brought  to  the  cabin;  and  so  Pap  John, 
who  was  getting  on  in  years  now,  and 
had  long  since  given  up  hard,  active  work, 
hastened  from  his  bed  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  milked  a  cow,  and  carried 
the  pail  of  fresh  milk  to  Huldy  and  the 
baby,  furtively,  apologetically.  The  food, 
the  raiment,  everything  had  to  be  smug 
gled  into  the  house  little  by  little,  ex 
plained,  apologized  for.  The  land  on  The 
Bench  was  rich  alluvial  soil.  Sammy,  in 
his  first  burst  of  independence,  ploughed 
it  (borrowing  mule  and  plough  from  a 
neighbor — the  one  neighbor  ever  known 
to  be  on  ill  terms  with  Pap  Overholt), 
and  planted  it  to  corn.  He  put  in  a  little 
garden,  too;  while  Pap  had  achieved  the 
establishment  of  a  small  colony  of  hens 
(every  one  of  whom,  it  appeared,  laid  two 
or  three  eggs  each  day — at  least  that  was 
the  way  the  count  came  out). 

The  baby  thrived,  unconscious  of  all 
the  grief,  the  perverse  cruelty,  the  baffled, 
defeated  tenderness  about  her,  and  was 
the  light  of  Pap  Overholt's  doting  eyes, 
the  delight  of  Aunt  Cornelia's  heart. 
When  she  was  eighteen  months  old,  and 
could  toddle  about  and  run  to  meet  them, 


Pap  Overholt  79 

and  chattered  that  wonderful  language 
which  these  two  hearts  of  love  had  all 
their  lives  yearned  to  hear — the  dialect 
of  babyhood, — the  twin  boys  came  to  the 
cabin  on  The  Bench.  And  Pap  Over- 
holt's  lines  were  harder  than  ever.  Cor 
nelia  had  sterner  stuff  in  her.  She  would 
have  called  a  halt. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  expostulated  finally, 
when  she  saw  her  husband  come  home 
crestfallen  one  day,  with  a  ham  which 
Sammy  had  detected  him  smuggling  into 
the  cabin  and  ordered  back,  — "  John 
honey,  ef  you  was  to  stop  toting  things 
to  the  cabin  and  let  it  all  alone — not 
pester  with  it  another — 

"  Comely,  Comely !"  cried  Pap  John, 
"  you  know  Sammy  cain't  no  mo'  keep  a 
wife  and  chill  en  than  a  peckerwood  kin. 
W'y,  they'd  starve !  Huldy  and  the  chaps 
would  jest  p'intedly  starve." 

"  No,  they  won't,  John.  Ef  you  could 
master  yo'  own  soft  heart — ef  you  could 
stay  away  (like  he's  tole  ye  a  minny  a 
time  to  do,  knowin'  'at  you  was  safe  not 
to  mind  him) — Sammy  would  stop  this 
here  foolishness.  He'd  come  to  his  senses 
and  be  thankful  for  what  the  Lord  sent, 
like  other  people.  W'y,  John — " 

"  Comely  honey — don't.  Don't  ye  say 
another  word.  I  tell  ye,  this  last  year 


So  Harper's  Novelettes 

there's  a  feelin'  in  my  throat  and  in  my 
breast — hyer," — he  laid  his  hand  pathet 
ically  over  his  heart, — "  a  cur'us,  gone, 
flutterin'  feelin'.  And  when  Sammy 
r'ars  up  arid  threatens  he'll  take  Iluldy 
and  the  chaps — you  know," — he  finished 
with  a  gesture  of  the  hand  and  a  glance 
of  unspeakable  pain, — "  when  he  does  that 
'ar  way,  or  something  comes  at  me  sudden 
like  that  —  that  we  may  lose  'em,  hit 
seems  like — right  hyer," — and  his  hand 
went  again  to  his  heart, — "  that  I  can't 
bear  it— that  hit  '11  take  my  life." 

This  was  the  last  time  Cornelia  ever 
remonstrated  with  Pap  John.  She  had 
a  little  talk  with  the  new  doctor  from 
Hepzibah  who  had  succeeded  old  Dr. 
Pastergood ;  and  after  that  John  was  add 
ed  to  the  list  of  her  anxieties.  He  might 
carry  the  milk  to  the  cabin  on  The 
Bench ;  he  might  slip  in,  when  he  deemed 
Sammy  away — or  asleep — and  plough  the 
corn;  she  saw  the  tragic  folly  of  it,  but 
must  be  silent.  And  so  on  that  par 
ticular  June  morning,  when  Pap  had  put 
up  the  mule,  clambered  down  the  short 
cut  footway  from  The  Bench  to  the  old 
house,  stopping  several  times  to  shake  his 
head  again  and  murmur  to  himself — 
"  Whut  you  gwine  do  ?  There's  them 
chaps ;  there's  Huldy.  Mustn't  plough  his 


Pap  Overholt  81 

co'n;  mustn't  take  over  air  cow.  Whut 
you  gwine  do?" — Aunt  Cornelia's  seeing 
eye  noted  his  perturbation  the  moment 
he  came  in  at  the  door.  With  tender 
guile  she  built  up  a  considerable  argu 
ment  in  the  matter  of  a  quarterly  meeting 
which  was  approaching — the  grove  quar 
terly,  in  which  Pap  John  was  unfailingly 
interested,  and  during  which  there  were 
always  from  two  to  half  a  dozen  preach 
ers,  old  and  young,  staying  with  them. 
So  she  led  him  away — ever  so  little  away 
— from  his  ever-present  grief. 

It  was  the  next  day  that  he  said  to 
her,  "  Comely,  I  p'intedly  ain't  gwine  to 
suffer  this  hyer  filchin'  o'  co'n  them 
Fusons  is  a-keepin'  up  on  me." 

"Is  the  Fusons  a-stealin'  yo'  co'n, 
John  ?"  she  responded,  in  surprise.  "  W'y, 
they  got  a-plenty,  ain't  they  ?" 

"  Well,  no,  not  adzactly, — that  is  to  say, 
Buck  Fuson  ain't  got  a-plenty.  He  too 
lazy  and  shif'less  to  make  co'n  of  his 
own;  and  he  like  too  well  to  filch  co'n 
from  them  he  puts  his  spite  on.  Buck 
Fuson  he  tuck  a  spite  at  me,  last  time 
the  raiders  was  up  atter  that  Fuson  hide 
out;  jes  set  up  an'  swore  'at  I'd  gin 
the  word  to  'em.  You  see,  honey,  he 
makes  him  up  a  spite  that-a-way — jes 
out  o'  nothin' — 'cause  hit's  sech  a  handy 


82  Harper's  Novelettes 

thing  to  have  around  when  he  comes  to 
want    co'n.      Thar's    some    one    already 
,  purvided   to   steal   from — some   one   'at's 
done  him  a  injury." 

"Pappy!  W'y,  Johnny  honey,  sakes 
alive!  What  air  ye  ever  a-gwine  to  do 
'long  o'  that  there  thing?"  For  the  old 
man  had  laboriously  fetched  out  a  rusty 
wolf-trap,  and  was  now  earnestly  inspect 
ing  and  overhauling  it. 

"  Whut  am  I  a-gwine  to  do  'long  o' 
this  hyer,  Comely  ?  W'y,  I  am  jes  p'int- 
edly  a-gwine  to  set  it  in  my  grain-room. 
Buck  Fuson  air  a  bad  man,  honey. 
There's  two  men's  blood  to  his  count. 
They  cain't  nothin'  be  done  to  him  for 
nair  a  one  of  'em — you  know,  same's  I 
do — 'ca'se  hit  cain't  be  proved  in  a  co't 
o'  law.  But  I  kin  ketch  him  in  this 
meanness  with  this  hyer  little  jigger, 
and  I'm  a-gwine  to  do  hit,  jest  ez  sure 
ez  my  name's  John  Overholt!" 

"Oh,  Pappy!  A  leetle  bit  o'  co'n  fer 
a  man's  chillen — 

"  Now,  Comely  honey,  that's  a  womern  ! 
Buck  Fuson  is  the  wrong  kind  o'  man  to 
have  round.  He's  ben  a-stealin'  my  co'n 
now  fer  two  weeks  and  mo'.  Ef  I  kin 
ketch  him  right  out,  and  give  him  a  fa'r 
shamin',  he'll  quit  the  Turkey  Tracks 
fer  good.  So  fer  as  Elmiry  and  the  chaps 


Pap  Overholt  83 

is  consarned,  they'll  be  better  off  without 
Buck  'n  what  they  is  with  him." 

At  this  moment  Aunt  Cornelia  cried 
out  joyously,  "  Oh,  thar's  my  chile !"  and 
ran  to  meet  her  daughter-in-law.  The 
little  girl — Cornelia  the  second — could 
navigate  bravely  by  herself  now,  and 
Huldy  was  carrying  the  lusty  twin  boys. 
In  the  flutter  of  delight  over  this  stolen 
visit,  the  ugly  wolf-trap  threat  was  for 
gotten.  It  had  been  a  month  and  more 
since  Sammy  had  set  foot  in  his  parents' 
house.  It  had  gone  all  over  both  Turkey 
Tracks  that  Sam  Overholt  declared  he 
would  never  darken  Pap  Overholt's  door 
again — Pap  Overholt,  who  had  tried  to 
make  a  pauper  of  him,  loading  him  with 
gifts  and  benefits,  like  he  was  shif'less,  no- 
'count  white  trash !  The  little  Huldy  re 
ported  him  gone  to  Far  Canaan,  over 
beyond  Big  Turkey  Track,  in  the  matter 
of  some  employment,  which  he  had  not 
deigned  to  make  clearer  to  his  wife.  He 
would  not  be  back  until  the  day  after 
to-morrow;  and  meantime  she  might  stay 
with  the  old  folks  two  whole  days  and 
nights !  In  the  severe  school  to  which 
life  had  put  her,  the  little  Huldy  had 
developed  an  astonishing  amount  of  char 
acter,  of  shrewdness,  and  perception,  and 
a  very  fair  philosophy  of  her  own.  To 


84  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  elder  woman's  sad  observation  that  it 
was  mighty  strange  what  made  Sammy 
so  "onthankful"  and  so  "  ha'sh  "  to  his 
pappy,  who  had  done  so  much  for  him, 
Huldy  responded, 

"No,  Aunt  Comely,  hit  ain't  strange, 
not  a  bit." 

"Ain't  strange?  Huldy  child,  what 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"W'y,  don't  you  know,  Aunt  Comely, 
ef  he  do  Pappy  that-a-way,  when  Pappy 
do  so  much  fer  him,  then  he  don't  have 
to  be  thankful.  When  everybody's  a-tell- 
in'  him,  <  Yo'  pap's  so  kind,  yo'  pap  does 
everything  for  you;  look  like  you  cain't 
be  good  enough  to  him,'  he  'bleeged  to 
find  some  way  to  shake  off  all  that  thank 
fulness  'at's  sech  a  burden  to  him.  And 
so  when  Pappy  come  a-totin'  milk,  an' 
a-totin'  pork,  an'  a-ploughin'  his  co'n 
outen  the  weeds,  w'y,  Sammy  jest  draw 
down  his  face  an'  look  black  at  Pappy, 
and  make  like  he  mad  at  him — like  he 
don't  want  none  o'  them  things — like 
Pappy  jest  pesterin'  round  him  fer  nothin' 
but  meanness.  Now  mind,  Aunt  Cor- 
nely,  I  ain't  say  Sammy  knows  this  his 
own  se'f.  But  I  studied  Sammy  mighty 
well,  an'  7  know.  Sammy  gittin'  tell  he 
do  me  the  same  way.  I  wait  on  him 
hand  and  foot ;  I  cook  his  bacon  jest  like 


Pap  Overholt  85 

he  tol'  me  you  did  it  fer  him.  I  fix  every 
thing  the  best  I  kin  (and  mebby  all  three 
of  the  chillen  a-cryin'  after  me) ;  and 
when  he  come  in  and  see  it  all  ready,  and 
see  how  hard  I  got  it,  and  seem  like 
there's  a  call  fer  him  to  be  thankful,  then 
Sammy  jest  turns  on  hit  all.  He  draw 
down  his  face  at  me  and  he  say,  black 
like :  '  I  don't  want  no  bacon — what  did 
you  fix  that  shirt  for  that-a-way?  Take 
away  that  turnip  sallet — I  cain't  git 
nothin'  like  I  want  it.'  Then,  you 
know,"  with  a  little  smile  up  into  the 
other's  face,  half  pitiful,  half  saucy, — 
"  then,  you  know,  Sammy  don't  have  to 
be  thankful.  Hit  was  all  done  wrong." 

It  was  the  next  evening  —  Saturday 
evening.  The  entire  household  (which 
included  Elder  Justice  and  two  young 
preachers  from  Big  Turkey  Track,  with 
Brother  Tarbush,  one  of  the  new  exhort- 
ers)  had  returned  from  the  afternoon's 
meeting  in  the  grove.  Supper  had  been 
eaten  and  cleared  away.  The  babies  had 
been  put  to  sleep;  the  two  women  and 
the  five  men — all  strong  and  striking 
types  of  the  Southern  mountaineer — were 
gathered  for  the  evening  reading  and 
prayer.  Elder  Justice,  now  nearly 
eighty  years  old,  a  beautiful  and  ven 
erable  person,  had  opened  the  big  Bible, 


86  Harper's  Novelettes 

and  after  turning  the  leaves  a  moment, 
raised  his  grave,  rugged  face  and  read: 
" '  Therefore  will  I  divide  him  a  portion 
with  the  great,  and  he  shall  divide  the 
spoil  with  the  strong;  because  he  hath 
poured  out  his  soul  unto  death.' " 

He  paused,  and  on  the  intense  still 
ness  which  followed  the  ceasing  of  his 
voice — the  silence  of  evening  in  the  deep 
mountains — there  broke  a  long,  shrill, 
agonized  scream. 

As  every  one  of  the  little  circle  leaped 
to  his  feet,  Aunt  Cornelia's  eyes  sought 
her  husband's  face,  and  his  hers.  After 
that  grinding,  terrible  cry,  the  stillness 
of  the  night  was  unstirred.  Pap  Over- 
holt  sprang  to  the  hearth — where  even  in 
the  midsummer  months  a  log  smoulders 
throughout  the  day,  to  be  brightened  into 
a  cheery  blaze  mornings  and  evenings, — 
seized  a  brand,  one  or  two  of  the  others 
following  his  example,  and  ran  through 
the  doorway,  across  the  little  chip-yard, 
making  for  the  low-browed  log  barn  and 
the  grain-room  beside  it. 

None  who  witnessed  that  scene  ever 
forgot  it.  Each  one  told  it  afterward  in 
his  own  way,  declaring  that  not  while 
he  lived  could  the  remembrance  of  it 
pass  from  his  mind.  Pap  Overholt's  tall 
figure  leaped  crouching  through  the  low 


Pap  Ovcrholt  87 

rloorway,  and  next  instant  lifted  the  blaz 
ing  brand  high  above  his  head ;  the  others 
followed,  doing  the  same.  There  by  the 
grain-bin,  with  ashy  countenance  and 
shaking  limbs,  the  sweat  of  anguish  upon 
his  forehead,  his  eyes  roving  dumbly 
around  the  circle  of  faces  revealed  by  the 
flickering  light  of  the  brands — there  with 
the  dreadful  wolf-trap  (locked  by  its 
chain  to  a  stanchion)  hanging  to  his 
right  arm,  its  fangs  bitten  through  and 
through  the  flesh,  stood  Sammy. 

Pap  Overholt's  mind  refused  at  first 
to  understand.  He  had  known  (with  that 
sort  of  moral  assurance  which  makes  a 
thing  as  real  to  us  as  the  evidence  of  the 
senses  themselves)  that  it  was  Buck  Fu- 
son  who  had  been  stealing  his  grain.  He 
had  set  his  trap  to  catch  Buck  Fuson; 
not  instantly  could  the  mere  sight  of  his 
eyes  convince  him  that  the  trapped  thief 
was  the  petted,  adored,  perverse  son, 
who  had  refused  his  father's  bounty 
when  it  had  seemed  the  little  wife  and 
babies  must  starve.  When  he  did  realize, 
the  cry  that  burst  from  his  heart  brought 
tears  to  all  the  eyes  looking  upon  him. 
Down  went  the  tall,  broad  figure,  down 
into  the  dust  of  the  grain-room  floor. 
And  there  Pap  Overholt  grovelled  on  his 
knees,  his  white  head  almost  at  the  thief's 


88  Harperfs  Novelettes 

feet,  crying,  crying  that  old  cry  of 
David's :  "  Oh,  Sammy,  my  son !  My 
son,  Sammy !  An'  I  wouldn't  V  touched 
a  hair  o'  his  nead.  My  God !  have  mercy 
on  my  soul,  that  would  'a'  fed  him  my 
heart's  blood — an'  he  wouldn't  take  bite 
nor  sup  from  my  hand.  Oh,  Sammy! 
what  did  you  want  to  do  this  to  yo'  po' 
old  pappy  fer?" 

Elder  Justice,  quick  and  efficient  at 
eighty  years,  had  sprung  to  the  lad's 
right  arm,  two  of  the  younger  men  close 
after.  Aunt  Cornelia  held  her  piece  of 
blazing  light-wood  for  them  while  they 
cut  away  the  sleeve  and  made  ready  to 
bear  apart  the  powerful  jaws  of  the  trap. 
The  little  Huldy  had  said  never  a  word. 
Her  small,  white  face  was  strained;  but 
it  did  not  bear  the  marks  of  shock 
and  of  horror  that  were  written  on 
every  other  countenance  there.  When 
they  had  grasped  jaws  and  lever,  and 
Elder  Justice's  kind  voice  murmured, 
"  Mind  now,  Sammy.  Hold  firm,  son ; 
we  air  a-gwine  to  pull  'em  back.  Brace 
yo'se'f,"  the  boy's  haggard  eyes  sought 
his  mother's  face. 

"  Le'  me  take  it,  Aunt  Comely,"  whis 
pered  Huldy,  loosing  the  light-wood  from 
the  elder  woman's  hand  and  leaving  her 
free.  And  the  next  moment  Sammy's 


Pap  Ovcrholt  89 

left  hand  was  clasped  tight  in  his  moth 
er's;  he  turned  his  face  round  to  her 
broad  breast  and  hid  it  there;  and  there 
he  sobbed  and  shook  as  the  savage  jaws 
came  slowly  back. 

That  strange  hour  worked  a  complete 
revolution  in  the  lives  of  the  little  fam 
ily  in  the  cabin  on  The  Bench  and  those 
in  the  big,  hospitable  Pap  Overholt 
home.  Sammy  had  "  met  up  with  "  pun 
ishment  at  last;  he  had  encountered  dis 
cipline;  and  the  change  it  wrought  upon 
him  was  almost  beyond  belief.  The  spell 
which  this  winning,  wayward,  perverse 
creature  had  laid  upon  Pap  Overholt's 
too  affectionate,  too-  indulgent  nature  was 
dissolved  in  that  terrible  hour.  He  was 
no  more  to  the  father  now  than  a  trouble 
some  boy  who  had  been  most  trying  and 
not  very  satisfactory.  The  ability  to 
wring  the  hearts  of  those  who  wished  to 
benefit  him  had  passed  from  Sammy;  but 
it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  wish  to  do 
so  seemed  to  be  no  longer  his.  While 
his  arm  was  still  in  a  sling,  before  he 
had  yet  raised  his  shamed  eyes  to 
meet  the  eyes  of  those  about  him, 
Pap  Overholt  cheerfully  put  old  Ned 
and  Jerry  to  the  big  ox  -  wagon  and 
bodily  removed  the  little  household 


QO  Harper's  Novelettes 

from  The  Bench  to  the  home  which  had 
been  so  long  yearning  for  them. 

Now,  at  last,  he  was  Pap  Overholt  in 
deed.  The  little  Huldy,  whose  burden 
of  gratitude  for  two  had  seemed  to  Aunt 
Cornelia  so  grievous  a  one,  was  a  daugh 
ter  after  any  man's  heart,  and  her  brood 
of  smiling  children  were  a  wagon-load 
which  Pap  John  hauled  with  joy  and 
pride  to  and  from  the  settlement,  to  the 
circus — ay,  every  circus  that  ever  showed 
its  head  within  a  day's  drive  of  Little 
Turkey  Track, — to  meetin',  to  grove  quar 
terlies,  in  response  to  every  call  of  neigh- 
borliness,  or  of  mere  amusement. 


In   the   Piny   Woods 

BY   MRS.   B.   F.   MAYHEW 

A  SPARSELY  settled  bit  of  country 
AA  in  the  piny  woods  of  North  Caro 
lina.  A  house  rather  larger  than 
its  neighbors,  though  only  a  "  story  and 
a  jump  "  of  four  rooms,  two  upper  and 
two  lower,  and  quite  a  commodius  shed 
on  the  back  containing  two  rooms  and  a 
small  entry;  and  when  Jeems  Henry  Ty 
ler  increased  his  rooms  as  his  family 
grew,  his  neighbors  "  allowed "  that 
"  arter  er  while  he'd  make  er  hotel  out'n 
it."  Several  out-houses  stood  at  con 
venient  distances  from  the  house.  A 
rough  board  paling  enclosed  the  yard. 
A  clearing  of  twenty-five  or  more  acres 
lay  around  three  sides  of  the  house,  and 
well-to-do  Industry  and  Thrift  plainly 
went  hand  in  hand  about  the  place. 

A  Saturday  in  early  autumn  was  draw 
ing  near  its  close,  and  the  family  had 
finished  supper,  though  it  was  not  yet 
dark.  Like  all  country  folk  of  their  sta- 


92  Harper's  Novelettes 

tion  in  life,  they  ate  in  the  kitchen,  a 
building  separate  from  the  house.  There 
were  "  Grandmother  Tyler,"  a  sweet- 
faced  old  woman,  with  silvery  hair 
smoothed  away  under  a  red  silk  kerchief 
folded  cornerwise  and  tied  under  her 
chin ;  and  her  son,  "  Father  Tyler,"  with 
his  fifty-odd  years  showing  themselves  in 
his  grizzled  hair  and  beard ;  and  "  Mother 
Tyler,"  a  brisk  stout  woman,  with  great 
strength  of  character  in  her  strong  feat 
ures,  black  eyes,  and  straight  black  hair. 
Her  neighbors  declared  that  she  was  the 
"  main  stake  "  in  the  "  Tyler  fence." 

The  children  were  "  Mandy  Calline," 
the  eldest,  and  her  mother's  special  pride, 
built  on  the  same  model  with  her  mother; 
Joseph  Zachariah,  a  long-legged  youth; 
Ann  Elisabeth,  a  lanky  girl ;  Susan  Jane, 
and  Jeems  Henry,  or  "  Little  Jim,"  to 
distinguish  him  from  his  father;  and 
last,  but  by  no  means  least  in  the  house 
hold,  came  the  baby.  When  she  was 
born  Mrs.  Tyler  declared  that  as  all  the 
rest  were  named  for  different  members  of 
both  families,  she  should  give  this  wee 
blossom  a  fancy  name,  and  she  had  the 
desire  of  her  heart,  and  the  baby  rejoiced 
in  the  name  of  Elthania  Mydora,  docked 
off  into  "  Thaney  "  for  short. 

They   had    risen    from    the   table,    and 


In  the  Piny  Woods  93 

Father  Tyler  had  hastened  to  his  moth 
er's  side  as  the  old  lady  moved  slow 
ly  away,  and  taking  her  arm,  guided  her 
carefully  to  the  house,  for  the  eyes  in 
the  placid  old  face,  looking  apparently 
straight  before  her,  were  stone-blind. 

"  Come,  now,  gals,"  said  Mother  Ty 
ler,  briskly,  with  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
"  make  er  hurry  'n'  do  up  th'  dishes. 
Come,  Ann  Elisabeth,  go  ter  scrapin'  up, 
V,  Mandy  Calline,  pour  up  th'  dish 
water." 

"Ya'as,  yer'd  better  make  er  hurry," 
squeaked  "Little  Jim,"  from  his  perch 
in  the  window,  "  fer  Mandy  Calline's 
spectin'  her  beau  ter-night." 

"  Ye'd  best  shet  up  yer  clatter,  Jim, 
lest  ye  know  what  yer  talkin'  erbout," 
retorted  Mandy  Calline,  with  a  pout, 
making  a  dash  at  him  with  the  dish 
cloth. 

"  Yer  right,  Jim,"  drawled  Joseph 
Zachariah,  lounging  in  the  doorway.  "  I 
heerd  Zeke  White  tell  'er  he  was  er- 
comin'  ter-night." 

"  Mar — "  began  Mandy  Calline,  look 
ing  at  her  mother  appealingly. 

"  Shet  up,  you  boys,"  came  in  answer. 
"  Zachariah,  ha'  ye  parted  th'  cows  V 
calves?" 

"  No,   m." 


94  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  Then  be  erbout  it  straight  erway. 
Jim — you  Jeems  Henry!" 

"  Ya'as,  'm,"  from  outside  the  window. 
"  Go  'n'  shet  up  the  hen-'ouse,  'n'  see 
ef  th'  black  hen  'n'  chickens  ha'  gone 
ter  roost  in  there.  She'll  keep  stayin' 
out  o'  nights  till  th'  fox  '11  grab  'er. 
Now,  chillen,  make  'er  hurry  'n'  git  thoe 
in  here.  Come,  Thaney  gal,  we'll  go  in 
th'  house  V  find  pappy  'n'  gra'mammy. 
Susan  Jane,  come  fetch  th'  baby's  ole 
quilt  'n'  spread  it  down  on  th'  floor  fer 
'er";  and  Mother  Tyler  repaired  to  the 
house  with  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

"Why,  mother,  ye  in  here  by  yer- 
self?  I  tho't  Jeems  Henry  was  with 
yer." 

"Ya'as,  Malviny,  he  was  tell  er  minit 
ergo,  V  he  stepped  out  to  th'  lot,"  re 
plied  the  old  lady,  in  tones  so  like  the 
expression  of  her  face,  mildly  calm,  that 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear  her  speak. 
"  Ha'  ye  got  thet  baby  wi'  ye  ?" 
"Ya'as,  'm." 

"  I  wish  ye'd  put  her  on  my  lap.  Gra' 
mammy  'ain't  had  'er  none  ter-day." 

"Ya'as,  'm,  in  er  minit.  Run,  Susan 
Jane,  'n'  fetch  er  cloth  ter  wipe  'er  face 
V  ban's;  they're  that  stuck  up  wi'  mer- 
lasses,  ter  say  nothin'  o'  dirt.  Therey, 
therey,  now!  Mammy's  gal  don't  want 


In  the  Piny  Woods  95 

ter  hev  'er  face  washed?  Hu!  tu!  tu ! 
Thaney  mustn't  cry  so.  Where's  Jeff? 
Here,  Jeff — here,  Jeff!  O'le  bugger-man, 
come  down  the  chimbly  V  ketch  this 
bad  gal.  You'd  better  hush.  I  tell  yer 
he's  er-comin'.  Here,  Susan  Jane,  take 
th'  cloth.  There,  gra'mammy;  there's 
jest  es  sweet  er  little  gal  es  ye'd  find  in 
er  dog's  age."  And  the  old  lady  at  once 
cuddled  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  swing 
ing  back  and  forth  in  her  home-made 
rocker,  and  crooning  an  old-time  baby 
song. 

"  Here,  Susan  Jane,  ban'  me  my  knit- 
tin'  from  th'  table,  'n'  go  'n'  tell  Jim  ter 
pitch  in  some  pine  knots  'n'  make  er 
light  in  here,  '11'  be  quick  erbout  it"; 
and  Mother  Tyler  settled  herself  in  an 
other  home-made  rocker  and  began  to 
knit  rapidly. 

This  was  the  night-work  of  the  female 
portion  of  the  family,  and  numerous 
stockings  of  various  colors  and  in  vari 
ous  stages  of  progress  were  stuck  about 
the  walls  of  the  room,  which  boasted 
neither  ceiling  nor  lath  and  plaster,  mak 
ing  convenient  receptacles  between  the 
posts  and  weather-boarding  for  knitting- 
work,  turkey-tail  fans,  bunches  of  herbs 
for  drying,  etc. 

A  pine-knot  fire  was  soon  kindled  on 


96  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  hearth,  and  threw  its  flickering  shad 
ows  on  the  room  and  its  occupants  as  the 
dusk  gathered  in. 

Mandy  Calline  and  Elisabeth,  running 
a  race  from  the  kitchen,  burst  into  "he 
back  door,  halting  in  a  good  -  natured 
tussle  in  the  entry. 

"  Stop  that  racket,  you  gals,"  called 
out  the  mother;  and  as  they  came  in 
with  suppressed  bustle,  panting  with 
smothered  laughter,  she  asked,  briskly, 
"Have  ye  shet  up  everything  V  locked 
th'  kitchen  door?" 

"Ya'as,  'm,"  replied  Mandy  Calline; 
"V  here's  th'  key  on  th'  mantel-shelf." 
She  then  disappeared  up  the  stairs  which 
came  down  into  the  sitting-room  behind 
the  back  door. 

"  Come,  Ann  Elisabeth,  git  yer  knit- 
tin'.  Git  your'n  too,  Susan  Jane." 

"Yer'll  ha'  ter  set  th'  heel  fer  me, 
mar,"  said  Susan  Jane,  hoping  privately 
that  she  would  be  too  busy  to  do  so. 

"Fetch  it  here,"  from  the  mother, 
dashed  the  hope  incontinently. 

"  I  think  we're  goin'  ter  ha'  some  f all- 
in'  weather  in  er  day  er  two;  sky  looks 
ruther  hazy,  'n'  I  heerd  er  rain-crow  ter- 
day,  'n'  ther's  er  circle  roun'  th'  moon," 
observed  Father  Tyler  as  he  entered,  and 
hanging  his  hat  on  a  convenient  nail  in 


In  the  Piny  Woods  97 

a  post,  seated  himself  in  the  corner  op 
posite  his  mother. 

"  Ha'  ye  got  th'  fodder  all  in  ?"  queried 
his  wife,  with  much  interest. 

"Ya'as;  finished  ter-day;  that's  all 
safe;  but  er  rain  'ould  interfere  mightily 
wi'  pickin'  out  cotton  up  in  th'  swamp, 
;n'  it's  openin,  mighty  fast;  shouldn't 
be  s'prised  ef  some  er  that  swamp  don't 
fetch  er  bale  ter  th'  acre,  'n'  we'll  have  er 
right  purty  lot  o'  cotton,  even  atter  th' 
rent's  paid  out " ;  and  Father  Tyler,  with 
much  complacency,  lighted  his  pipe  with 
a  coal  from  the  hearth. 

"  Th'  gals  '11  soon  ha'  this  erround  th' 
house  all  picked  out ;  they  got  purty  nigh 
over  it  ter-day,  'n'  ther'll  likely  be  one 
more  scatterin'  pickin',"  said  Mother 
Tyler. 

Here  a  starched  rustling  on  the  stairs 
betokened  the  descent  of  Mandy  Calline. 
Pushing  back  the  door,  she  stepped  down 
with  all  the  dignity  which  she  deemed 
suitable  to  don  with  her  present  attire. 

A  new  calico  dress  of  a  blue  ground, 
with  a  bright  yellow  vine  rambling  up 
its  lengths,  adorned  her  round,  plump 
figure;  her  glossy  black  hair  was  plaited, 
and  surmounted  with  a  huge  red  bow, 
the  ends  of  which  fluttered  out  bravely 
as  she  stepped  slowly  into  the  room,  busy- 


98  Harper's  Novelettes 

ing  herself  pulling  a  basting  out  of  her 
sleeve. 

"  Well,  Mandy  Calline,"  began  her 
mother,  "  ef  I  do  say  it  myself,  yer  frock 
fits  jest  as  nice  as  can  be.  Looks  like  ye 
had  been  melted  V  run  into  it.  Nice 
langth,  too,"  eying  her  critically  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Ya'as,  'm;  V  it's  comf'ble,  too;  ain't 
too  tight  ner  nothin',"  giving  her  shoul 
ders  a  little  twitch,  and  moving  her  arms 
a  bit. 

"  I  guess  th'  boys  '11  ha'  ter  look  sharp 
ef  that  gal  sets  'er  cap  at  any  on  'em," 
put  in  Father  Tyler,  gazing  proudly  at 
his  first-born,  whereupon  a  toss  of  her 
head  set  the  ribbon  ends  fluttering  as  she 
moved  with  great  dignity  across  the 
room  to  the  fireplace. 

"Come,  let  me  feel,  dearie,"  said  the 
old  lady,  softly,  turning  her  sightless 
eyes  toward  the  girl,  hearing  her  move 
ments  in  her  direction. 

"Ya'as,  gra'mammy,"  and  stepping 
nearer,  she  knelt  at  her  grandmother's 
feet,  and  leaning  forward,  rested  her 
hands  lightly  on  her  shoulders. 

The  old  wrinkled  hands  groped  their 
way  to  the  girl's  face,  thence  downward, 
over  her  arms,  her  waist,  to  the  skirt  of 
her  dress. 


In  the  Piny  Woods  99 

"It  feels  nice,  dearie,  'n'  I  know  it 
looks  nice." 

"  I'm  glad  ye  like  it,  gra'mammy,"  said 
the  girl,  gently. 

"Air  ye  spectin'  comp'ny,  dearie,  that 
ye're  all  dressed  up  so  nice?  'Pears  like 
ye  wouldn't  put  on  yer  new  frock  lest  ye 
wer'." 

Noting  the  girl's  hesitation,  the  old 
lady  said,  softly,  "Whisper  V  tell  gra' 
mammy  who's  er-comin' " ;  and  Mandy 
Calline,  with  an  additional  shade  to  the 
red  in  her  cheeks,  leaned  forward  and 
shyly  whispered  a  name  in  her  grand 
mother's  ear. 

A  satisfactory  smile  broke  like  sun 
shine  over  the  kind  old  face,  and  she 
murmured :  "  He's  come  o'  good  f  ambly, 
dearie.  I  knowed  'em  all  years  ago. 
Smart,  stiddy,  hard-workin',  kind,  well- 
ter-do  people.  I've  been  thinkin'  he's 
been  er-comin'  here  purty  stiddy,  'n'  I 
knowed  in  my  min'  he  warn't  er-comin' 
ter  see  Zachariah." 

Bestowing  a  kiss  on  one  aged  cheek 
and  a  gentle  pat  on  the  other,  Mandy 
Calline  arose  to  her  feet,  and  lighting  a 
splinter  at  the  fire,  opened  the  door  in 
the  partition  separating  the  two  rooms 
and  entered  the  "parlor." 

This  room  was  the  pride  of  the  family, 


ioo  Harper's  Novelettes 

as  none  of  the  neighbors  could  afford  one 
set  apart  specially  for  company. 

It  was  the  only  room  in  the  house 
lathed  and  plastered.  Mother  Tyler,  who 
was  truly  an  ambitious  woman,  had,  how 
ever,  declared  in  the  pride  of  her  heart 
that  this  one  at  least  should  be  properly 
finished. 

Mandy  Calline,  with  her  blazing  splin 
ter,  lighted  the  lamp,  quite  a  gay  affair, 
with  a  gaudily  painted  shade,  and  bits  of 
red  flannel  with  scalloped  edges  floating 
about  in  the  bowl. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  a  neatly 
woven  rag  carpet  of  divers  gay  colors. 
Before  the  hearth,  which  displayed  a  coat 
of  red  ochre,  lay  a  home-made  rug  of 
startling  pattern.  The  fireplace  was  fill 
ed  with  cedar  boughs  and  sweet-smelling 
myrtle.  Two  "  boughten  "  rocking-chairs 
of  painted  wood  confronted  each  other 
primly  from  opposite  ends  of  the  rug. 
Half  a  dozen  straight-back  chairs,  also 
'•'boughten,"  were  disposed  stiffly  against 
the  walls.  A  large  folding-leaf  dining- 
table  of  real  mahogany,  an  heirloom  in 
the  family,  occupied  the  space  between 
two  windows,  and  held  a  few  scattered 
books. 

The  windows  were  covered  with  paper 
curtains  of  a  pale  blue  tint.  In  the 


In  the  Piny  "Woods  101 

centre  of  each  a  festive  couple,  a  youth 
and  damsel,  of  apparently  Bohemian 
type,  with  clasped  hands  held  high,  dis 
ported  themselves  in  a  frantic  dance. 
These  pictures  were  considered  by  the 
entire  neighborhood  as  resting  trium 
phantly  on  the  top  round  of  the  ladder  of 
art. 

Both  parlor  and  sitting-room  opened 
on  a  narrow  piazza  on  the  front  of  the 
house,  Father  Tyler  not  caring  to  waste 
space  in  a  hall  or  passage. 

Mandy  Calline  had  flicked  a  bit  of  im 
aginary  dust  from  the  polished  surface 
of  the  table,  had  set  a  bit  straighter,  if 
that  were  possible,  one  or  two  of  the 
chairs,  and  turned  up  the  lamp  a  trifle 
higher,  when  "Little  Jim"  opened  the 
door  leading  out  on  the  piazza,  and  in 
tones  of  suppressed  excitement  half  whis 
pered,  "He's  er-comin',  Mandy  Calline; 
Zeke's  er-comin?;  he's  nigh  'bout  ter  th' 
gate." 

"Go  'long,  Jim,  V  shet  up;  ye  allers 
knows  more'n  the  law  allows,"  said  his 
sister;  but  she  glanced  quickly  and  shyly 
out  of  the  door. 

Mr.  Ezekiel  White  was  just  entering 
the  gate.  He  was  undoubtedly  gotten  up 
at  vast  expense  for  the  occasion.  A  suit 
of  store  clothes  of  a  startling  plaid  adorn- 


102  Harper's  Novelettes 

ed  his  lanky  figure,  and  a  pair  of  new 
shoes  cramped  his  feet  in  the  most  ap 
proved  style.  A  new  felt  hat  rested  light 
ly  on  his  well-oiled  hair.  But  the  crown 
ing  glory  was  a  flaming  red  necktie 
which  flowed  in  blazing  magnificence 
over  his  shirt  front. 

Jeff,  the  yard  dog,  barked  in  neighbor 
ly  fashion,  as  though  yelping  a  greeting 
to  a  frequent  visitor  whom  he  recognized 
as  a  favored  one. 

"Susan  Jane,"  said  the  father,  "step 
ter  th'  door  V  see  who  Jeff's  er-barkin' 
at." 

Eagerly  the  girl  dropped  her  knitting 
and  hastened  to  reconnoitre,  curious  her 
self. 

"  It's  Zeke  White,"  she  replied,  return 
ing  to  her  work. 

"I  knowed  Mandy  Calline  was  spect- 
in'  him,"  muttered  Ann  Elisabeth,  under 
her  breath. 

Father  Tyler  arose  and  sauntered  to 
the  door,  calling  out:  "You  Jeff,  ef  ye 
don't  stop  that  barkin'—  Come  here  this 
minit,  sir!  Good-evenin',  Zekle;  come 


"  Good-evenin',  Mr.  Tyler.  Is  Zacha- 
riah  ter  home?" 

"I  dunW.  Malviny,  is  Zachariah 
erroun'  anywher's  'at  ye  know  of  ?" 


In  the  Piny  "Woods  103 

"I  dun'no';  I  hain't  seed  'im  sence 
supper." 

"I  know,"  piped  up  "Little  Jim." 
"  He  said  es  he  was  er-goin'  ter  Bill 
Jackson's.  But,  Zeke,"  he  added,  in  a 
hurried  aside,  catching  hold  of  the  visit 
or's  coat  in  his  eagerness,  "  Mandy  Cal- 
line's  ter  home,  ?n'  she's  fixed  up  ter 
kill!". 

At  this  juncture  Mandy  Calline  her 
self  appeared  in  the  doorway,  striving  to 
look  calmly  indifferent  at  everything  in 
general  and  nothing  in  particular;  but 
the  expression  in  her  bright  black  eyes 
was  shifty,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks 
vied  with  that  of  the  bow  on  her  hair; 
and  by  this  time  Zekle's  entire  anatomy 
exposed  to  view  shared  the  tint  of  his 
brilliant  necktie. 

"  Good-evenin',  Zekle,"  said  the  girl, 
bravely  assuming  a  calm  superiority  to 
all  embarrassment  and  confusion.  "  Will 
ye  come  in  th'  parlor,  er  had  ye  ruther 
set  out  on  th'  piazza?" 

Zekle  was  wise;  he  knew  that  "Little 
Jim  "  dare  not  intrude  on  the  sacred  pre 
cincts  of  the  parlor,  and  he  answered, 
"I'd  jest  es  live  set  in  th'  parlor,  ef  it's 
all  th'  same  ter  you." 

"Ya'as,  I'd  jest  es  live,"  she  replied, 
and  led  the  way  into  the  room;  he  fol- 


104  Harper's  Novelettes 

lowed,  and  sat  down  in  rather  constrain 
ed  fashion  on  the  chair  nearest  the  door, 
deposited  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside  him, 
took  from  his  pocket  and  unfolded  with 
a  flirt  an  immense  bandanna  handker 
chief,  highly  redolent  of  cheap  cologne, 
and  proceeded  to  mop  his  face  with  it. 

"  It's  ruther  warm,"  he  observed. 

"Ya'as,"  she  replied,  from  a  rocking- 
chair  in  the  corner  facing  him.  Here 
there  was  a  long  pause,  and  presently 
she  added,  "Pappy  said  es  how  he  tho't 
it  mought  rain  in  er  day  er  two." 

The  family  in  the  sitting-room  had 
settled  down,  the  door  being  closed  be 
tween  that  room  and  the  parlor. 

"There,  mother,  gi'  Thaney  ter  me," 
said  Mother  Tyler.  "I  know  ye're  tired 
holdin'  of  her,  fer  she  ain't  no  light 
weight,"  and  she  lifted  the  little  one 
away. 

"Heigho,  Thaney,  air  ye  erwake  yit?" 
questioned  the  father. 

"Erwake!  Ya'as,  V  likely  ter  be," 
said  the  mother.  "Thaney's  one  o'  th' 
setters-up,  she  is." 

"  Give  'er  ter  me,  Malviny.  Don't  pap- 
py's  gal  want  er  ride  on  pappy's  foot? 
See  'ere,  now!  Whoopee!"  and  placing 
the  plump  little  body  astride  his  foot,  the 
leg  of  which  crossed  the  other,  and  clasp- 


In  the  Piny  Woods  105 

ing  the  baby  hands  in  his,  he  tossed  her 
up  and  down  till  she  crowed  and  laughed 
in  a  perfect  abandon  of  baby  glee.  A 
smiling  audience  looked  on  in  joyous 
sympathy  with  the  baby's  pleasure,  the 
old  gra'mammy  murmuring  softly,  "  It's 
like  feelin'  the  sunshine  ter  hear  her 
laugh!" 

"  There,  pappy,"  said  Mother  Tyler, 
anxiously,  "  that  '11  do ;  ye're  goin'  ter 
git  'er  so  wide-erwake  there'll  be  no  doin' 
er  thing  with  'er.  Come,  now,  Thaney, 
let  mammy  put  ye  down  here  on  yer 
quilt.  Gome,  come,  I  know  ye've  forgot 
that  ole  bugger-man  that  stays  up  th' 
chimbly  'n'  ketches  bad  gals!  There, 
now,  that's  mammy's  nice  gal.  Git  'er 
playthings  fer  'er,  Susan  Jane.  Jim, 
don't  ye  go  ter  sleep  there  in  that  door. 
Ha'  ye  washed  yer  feet  ?" 

"  No,  'm,"  came  drowsily  from  the 
doorway. 

"Why  upon  th'  yeth  do  ye  wait  every 
blessed  night  ter  be  told  ter  wash  yer 
feet?  Go  straight  'n'  wash  'em,  'n'  then 
go  ter  bed.  Come,  gals,  knit  ter  th'  mid 
dle  'n'  put  up  yer  knittin';  it's  time  for 
all  little  folks  ter  go  ter  sleep  'n'  look 
for  ter-morrer.  'Pears  like  Thaney's 
goin'  ter  look  fer  it  with  eyes  wide  open." 

"Malviny,   ye'll   have   ter  toe   up   my 


io6  Harper's  Novelettes 

knittin'  fer  me,  Monday;  I've  got  it  down 
ter  th'  narrerin',  V  I  can't  do  no  more," 
came  softly  from  gra'mammy's  corner. 

"Ya'as,  mother,  I  will;  I  could  ha' 
toed  it  up  this  evenin'  es  well  es  not,  tho' 
ef  I  had,  ye'd  ha'  started  ernuther,  V 
ye'd  need  ter  rest;  ye're  allers  knittin'." 

"  Ya'as,  but,  darter,  it's  all  I  kin  do ;  V 
I'm  so  thankful  I  kin  feel  ter  knit,  fer 
th'  hardest  work  is  ter  set  wi'  folded 
han's  doin'  nothin'." 

"Well,  mother,  it's  but  sildom  that  I 
ever  knowed  yer  ter  set  with  folded 
han's,"  remarked  her  son,  with  proud 
tenderness. 

"Maybe,  Jeems  Henry;  but  I  never 
tuck  no  consait  ter  myself  fer  workin', 
because  I  jest  nachally  loved  it.  Yer 
PaPPy  use  ter  say  I  was  er  born  worker, 
'n'  how  he  did  use  ter  praise  me  fer 
bein'  smart!  V  that  was  sich  er  help! 
Somehow  I've  minded  me  of  'im  all  day 
ter-day  —  of  th'  time  when  he  logged 
Whitcombe's  mill  down  on  Fallin'  Crick. 
'Twas — lemme  see!  Jeems  Henry,  ye're 
how  ole?" 

"Fifty-two  my  las'  birthday." 

"Well,  that  was  fifty-one  year  ergo. 
You  was  all  th'  one  I  had  then,  ?n'  yer 
pappy  was  erway  from  home  all  th'  week, 
'cept  from  Sat'day  evenin'  tell  'fore  day 


In  the  Piny  Woods  107 

Monday  mornin'.  Melindy  White  staid 
wi'  me;  she  was  Zekle's  great-aunt,  'n' 
er  ole  maid,  'n'  people  did  say  she  was 
monst'ous  cross  V  crabbed,  but  she 
warn't  never  cross  ter  me.  I  mind  me 
of  er  Sat'day,  V  I'd  be  spectin'  of  yer 
pappy  home.  I'd  git  up  at  th'  fust  cock 
crow,  'n'  go  wake  Melindy,  'n'  she'd 
grumble  'n'  laff  all  in  er  breath,  'n'  say: 
'  Ann  Elisabeth  Tyler,  ye're  th'  most  on- 
reasonablest  creeter  that  I  ever  seed! 
What  in  natur'  do  ye  want  ter  git  up 
'fore  day  fer?  Jest  ter  make  th'  time 
that  much  longer  'fore  Jim  Tyler  comes  ? 
I  know  ef  I  was  married  ter  th'  President 
I  wouldn't  be  es  big  er  fool  es  ye  air.' 
But,  la!  she'd  git  up  jest  ter  pleasure 
me,  V  then  sich  cleanin'  up,  V  sich 
cookin'  o'  pies  'n'  cakes  '11'  chickens,  'n' 
gittin'  ready  fer  yer  pappy  ter  come!" 
And  the  placid  old  face  fairly  glowed 
with  the  remembrance.  "  'ISP  I  mind 
me,"  she  crooned  on,  "  of  th?  time  when 
ye  fust  begun  ter  talk;  I  was  er  whole 
week  er-teachin'  yer  ter  say  two  words; 
I  didn't  do  much  else.  Melindy  allowed 
that  I'd  gone  clean  daft;  'n?  when  Sat' 
day  come,  'long  erbout  milkin'-time,  I 
put  on  er  pink  caliker  frock.  I  'member 
it  jest  es  well!  it  had  little  white  specks 
on  the  pink;  he  bought  it  at  Miggs's 


io8  Harper's  Novelettes 

Crossroads,  'n'  said  I  allers  looked  like 
er  rose  in  it.  I  tuck  ye  in  my  arms  'n' 
went  down  ter  th'  bars,  where  I  allers 
stood  ter  watch  fer  'im ;  he  come  in  er 
boat  ter  th'  little  landin'  'n'  walked  home, 
erbout  er  mile;  'n"  when  I  seed  'im  corn- 
in',  'n'  he'd  got  nigh  ernuff,  I  whispered 
ter  ye,  '11'  ye  clapped  yer  little  han's,  'n' 
fairly  shouted  out, '  Pappy's  tumin' !  pap 
py's  tumin'!'  Dearie  me,  dearie  me;  I 
kin  see  'im  now  so  plain!  He  broke 
inter  er  run,  'n'  I  stepped  over  th'  bars 
ter  meet  'im,  'n'  he  gethered  us  both  in 
his  arms,  like  es  ef  he'd  never  turn  loose ; 
then  he  car'ied  ye  up  to  th'  house  on  one 
arm,  the  other  one  roun'  my  wais',  'n' 
he  made  ye  say  it  over  'n'  over — '  Pappy's 
tumin',  pappy's  tumin';'  'n'  Melindy 
'lowed  we  wer'  '  th'  biggest  pair  o'  geese  ' ; 
but  we  was  mighty  happy  geese  jest  th' 
same." 

There  was  a  pause.  They  were  all  lis 
tening.  Then  she  went  on.  "  Somehow 
ter-day  I  felt  like  I  use  ter  of  er  Sat'- 
day  then,  kinder  spectin'  'n;  light-heart 
ed.  I  dun'no'  why;  I  ain't  never  felt  so 
befo'  in  all  these  years  sence  he  died — 
forty-one  on  'em;  'n'  fifteen  sence  th' 
Lord  shet  down  th'  dark  over  my  eyes, 
day  ?n'  night  erlike.  Well,  well;  I've 
had  er  heap  ter  be  thankful  fer ;  th'  Lord 


In  the  Piny  "Woods  109 

has  been  good  ter  me;  fer  no  mother 
ever  had  er  better  son  than  ye've  allers 
ben,  Jeems  Henry;  'n'  ef  Malviny  had  er 
ben  my  own  darter,  she  couldn't  er  ben 
more  like  one;  IVe  allers  ben  tuck  keer 
on,  'n'  waited  on,  'n'  'ain't  never  ben  sat 
erside  fer  no  one.  Ya'as,  th'  Lord's  ben 
good  ter  me."  She  began  to  fumble  for 
her  handkerchief. 

"But,  mother,  ye  don't  say  nothin'  o' 
what  er  blessin'  ye've  ben  to  us,"  said  her 
son.  "Ye've  teached  us  many  er  lesson 
by  yer  patience  in  yer  blindness." 

"Ya'as,  but,  Jeems  Henry,  I  had  no 
call  ter  be  nothin'  else  but  patient ;  I  had 
no  call  ter  be  onreasonable  V  fret  'n' 
worry  'n'  say  that  th'  Lord  had  forsak- 
ened  me  when  He  hadn't.  I  knowed  I'd 
only  ter  bide  my  time,  'n'  I'm  now  near 
seventy-two  year  old.  Dear,  dear,  how 
th'  time  goes !  Seems  like  only  th'  other 
day  when  I  was  married !  Was  that  nine 
the  clock  struck?" 

"Ya'as,  'm." 

"Well,  I  b'lieve  I'll  git  ter  bed." 

"Wait,  mother,  let  me  help  yer,"  said 
her  daughter,  hastily  throwing  aside  her 
knitting. 

"  We'll  both  help  ye,  mother,"  said  her 
son,  putting  one  arm  gently  around  her 
as  she  arose  from  her  chair. 


no  Harper's  Novelettes 

"Well,  well,"  she  laughed,  with  soft 
content.  "  I  sh'll  be  well  waited  on  with 
two  children  ?stid  er  one;  but  none  too 
many — none  too  many." 

Zekle  White  had  made  brave  progress 
from  the  chair  by  the  door  to  the  other 
rocker,  drawn  closely  beside  that  of  Man- 
dy  Calline;  and  he  was  saying,  in  tones 
that  suggested  an  effort :  "  I've  seed  other 
young  ladies  which  may  be  better-lookin' 
in  other  folkses'  eyes,  V  they  may  be 
more  suiterbler  ter  marry,  but  not  fer 
me.  Thar  ain't  but  one  gurl  in  this 
roun'  worl'  that  I'd  ask  ter  be  my  wife, 
V,  Mandy  Calline,  I've  ben  keepin* 
comp'ny  wi'  you  long  ernuff  fer  ye  ter 
know  that  ye  air  th'  one."  He  swallowed, 
and  went  on:  "I've  got  my  house  nigh 
erbout  done.  Ter  be  sho',  'tain't  es  fine 
es  this  un,  nor  es  big;  but  I  kin  add  ter 
it,  V  jest  es  soon  es  it  is  done  I  want  ter 
put  my  wife  in  it.  Now,  Mandy  Calline, 
what  yer  say — will  yer  be  my  wife?" 

Mandy  Calline  looked  shy — much  like 
a  young  colt  when  it  is  going  to  break 
out  of  harness.  She  rocked  back  and 
forth  with  short  spasmodic  jerks,  and 
twisted  her  handkerchief  into  all  con 
ceivable  shapes. 

"  Yer  don't  know  how  sot  on  it  I  am," 
he  went  on;  "V  all  day  long  I'm  er- 


In  the  Piny  Woods  ur 

thinkin'  how  nice  it  '11  be  when  I'm  er- 
workin',  ploughin'  maybe,  up  one  row  'n' 
down  ernuther,  'n'  watchin'  th'  sun  go 
down,  'n'  lookin'  forerd  ter  goin'  ter  th' 
house  'n'  hev  er  nice  little  wife  ter  meet 
ine,  wi'  everything-  tidied  up  'n'  cheerful 
'n'  comf'ble."  Mandy  Calline  simply 
drooped  her  head  lower,  and  twisted  her 
handkerchief  tighter.  "Mandy  Calline, 
don't  yer  say  '  no/  "  he  said.  "  I  love  yer 
too  well  ter  give  yer  up  easy;  'n'  I  swear 
ef  ye  don't  say  '  yes/  I'll  set  fire  V  burn 
up  th'  new  house,  fer  no  other  'oman 
sha'n't  never  live  there.  I'm  er-waitin', 
Mandy  Calline,  V  don't,  don't  tell  me 
no." 

"Well,  Zekle,"  she  began,  with  much 
hesitation,  "bein*  es  how  I  don't  see  no 
use  in  burnin'  up  er  right  new  house,  'n' 
it  not  even  finished,  I  guess  es  how — 
maybe — in  erbout  two  or  three  years — " 

"Two  or  three  thunderations !"  he 
cried  out,  ecstatically,  seizing  both  her 
hands  in  his.  "Yer  mean  two  or  three 
weeks!  Mandy  Calline,  do  ye  mean 
ya'as,  ye'll  marry  me?  I  want  ter  hear 
ye  say  it." 

"Ya'as,  Zekle,"  she  said,  shyly. 
^   "Whoopee!     I   feel   like   I'd   like   ter 
jump  up   'n'   knock  my  heels   tergether 
Vyell!" 


112  Harper's  Novelettes 

"Yer'd  better  try  it  er  spell,"  she  said, 
smiling  at  him  shyly,  "  'n'  jest  see  how 
soon  ye'd  ha'  th'  hull  fambly  er-rushin' 
in  ter  see  what  was  the  matter." 

Hereupon  came  the  ominous  sound  of 
Father  Tyler  winding  the  clock  in  the 
sitting-room;  Zekle  knew  'twas  a  signal 
for  him  to  depart. 

"Well,"  slowly  rising,  "I  guess  I  got 
ter  go,  but  I  do  mortally  hate  ter.  Come 
ter  th'  door  wi'  me,  Mandy  Calline"; 
and  taking  her  hand,  he  drew  her  up  be 
side  him,  but  she  stood  off  a  bit  skittish 
ly,  and  he  knew  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  ask  the  question  which  was  trembling 
on  his  lips,  so,  quick  as  a  flash,  he 
dropped  one  arm  around  her  waist,  tipped 
up  her  chin  with  the  other  hand,  and 
kissed  her  square  on  the  mouth  before 
she  fairly  knew  what  he  was  about. 

"You  Zekle  White!"  she  cried  out, 
snatching  herself  from  his  arm  and  be 
stowing  a  rousing  slap  on  his  face. 

"I  knowed  ye  wouldn't  give  me  one, 
so  I  tuck  it  jest  so.  Good-night  tell  ter- 
morrer,  Mandy  Calline;  I'm  goin'  home 
'n'  dream  erbout  ye." 

The  next  morning  dawned  bright  and 
soft.  A  perfect  September  morning. 
Father  Tyler  and  the  boys  were  at  the 
lot  feeding  and  milking.  Mandy  Calline 


In  the  Pmy  Woods  113 

was  cleaning  up  the  house,  her  comely 
face  aglow  with  her  new-found  happi 
ness.  Susan  Jane  attended  to  the  baby, 
while  Ann  Elisabeth  helped  her  mother 
"get  breakfast." 

"Gra'mammy  was  sleepin'  so  nice 
when  I  got  up,"  said  the  girl,  "that  I 
crep'  out  V  didn't  wake  'er.  Had  I 
better  go  see  ef  she's  erwake  now,  mar? 
Breakfus  is  nigh  erbout  done." 

^"Not  yet.  Go  tell  Mandy  Calline  ter 
git  th'  milk-pitcher  V  go  to  the  cow-pen 
V  fetch  some  milk  fer  breakfus.  No 
tellin'  when  they'll  git  thoo  out  there. 
Then  you  hurry  back  V  finish  fryin'  that 
pan  o'  pertaters.  No  need  ter  'sturb 
gra'mammy  till  breakfus  is  ready  ter  put 
on  th'  table;  V  yer  pappy  V  th'  boys  '11 
ha'  ter  wash  when  they  come  from  th' 
lot."  And  Mother  Tyler  opened  the 
stove  door  and  put  in  a  generous  pan  of 
biscuits  to  bake. 

Mandy  Calline,  with  the  milk-pitcher 
in  her  hand,  hurried  out  to  the  cow-pen, 
which  adjoined  the  stable  lot.  Her  father 
was  milking,  Jim  holding  the  calves. 
Zachariah  was  in  the  lot  feeding  the 
horse  and  pigs.  She  had  just  stepped 
over  the  bars  into  the  pen,  when  who 
should  appear,  sauntering  up,  but  Zeke 
White!  He  assumed  a  brave  front,  and 


8      s.  L. 


ii4  Harper's  Novelettes 

with  hands  thrust  in  his  pantaloons 
pockets,  came  up,  whistling-  softly. 

"  Good-mornin',  Zekle,"  greeted  Father 
Tyler,  rising-  from  his  stooping-  position. 

"  Good  -  morning  Mr.  Tyler.  Fine 
mornin'." 

"Ya'as;  hut  I'm  erfeared  we're  goin' 
ter  hev  rain  in  er  day  er  two.  I  feel 
ruther  rheumaticky  this  mornin',  er 
mighty  shore  sign  that  rain  ain't  fur 
off.  Want  milk  fer  breakfus,  Mandy 
Calline?  Well,  fetch  here  yer  pitcher." 

A  shy  "  good-mornin' "  had  passed  be 
tween  Mandy  Calline  and  Zekle,  and  he 
sauntered  up  beside  her,  taking  the 
pitcher,  and  as  they  stepped  over  the 
bars  Father  Tyler,  hospitably  inclined, 
said:  "Take  breakfus  with  us,  Zekle? 
I  lay  Malviny  '11  hev  ernuff  cooked  ter 
give  yer  er  bite." 

With  assumed  hesitation  Zekle  ac 
cepted  the  invitation,  and  he  and  Mandy 
Calline  passed  on  to  the  house,  he  care 
fully  carrying  the  pitcher  of  milk. 

He  cleared  his  throat  a  time  or  two, 
and  remarked  again  on  the  beauty  of  the 
morning,  to  which  she  rather  nervously 
assented;  then  suddenly,  the  words  seem 
ingly  shot  out  of  him :  "  Mandy  Calline, 
I'm  goin'  ter  ask  th'  ole  folks  ter-day. 
What  yer 


In  the  Piny  Woods  115 

Mandy  Calline  was  red  as  a  turkey- 
cock,  to  which  was  now  added  a  nervous 
confusion  which  bade  fair  to  overwhelm 
her. 

"  It's  too  soon,  Zekle.  Why  n't  yer  wait 
er  while?"  she  replied,  tremblingly. 

"  No,  'tain't  too  soon,"  he  answered, 
promptly.  "  I  want  it  all  done  'n'  over 
with,  then  I  sh'll  feel  mo'  like  ye  b'long 
ter  me.  I'm  goin'  ter  ask  'em  ter-day; 
yer  needn't  say  not.  I  know  you're  er- 
feared  o'  th'  teasin'.  But  ye  needn't  min' 
that;  ye  won't  hev  ter  put  up  wi'  it  long; 
fer  th'  way  I  mean  ter  work  on  that 
house  ter  git  it  done — well,  'twon't  be 
long  befo'  it  '11  be  ready  ter  put  my  wife 
in  it." 

"Well,  Zekle,"  said  the  girl,  hesita 
tingly,  "ef  ye'd  ruther  ask  'em  ter-day, 
why — I  guess  es  how — ye  mought  es  well 
do  it.  But  let's  go  'n'  tell  gra'mammy 
now;  somehow  I'd  ruther  she  knowed  it 
fust." 

"  We  will,"  replied  Zekle,  promptly. 

Mother  Tyler  was  putting  breakfast  on 
the  table.  She  suddenly  paused  and  lis 
tened.  Something  was  the  matter.  There 
were  cries  that  betokened  trouble.  She 
hastened  to  the  house,  followed  her  hus 
band  and  the  boys  on  to  gra'mammy's 


n6  Harper's  Novelettes 

room,  and  there  on  the  bed,  in  peaceful 
contrast  to  all  this  wailing  and  sorrow, 
lay  dear  old  gra'mammy,  dead.  The  hap 
piest  smile  glorified  the  kind  old  withered 
face,  and  the  wrinkled  hands  lay  crossed 
and  still  on  her  breast.  She  had  truly 
met  the  husband  of  her  youth,  and  God 
had  opened  in  death  the  eyes  so  darkened 
in  life. 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy 

BY    WILLIAM    LUDWELL    SHEPPARD 

{NEVER  knew  a  time  in  which  I  did 
not  know  Mammy.  She  was  simply 
a  part  of  my  consciousness;  it  seems 
to  me  now  a  more  vivid  one  in  my  earli 
est  years  than  that  of  the  existence  of 
my  parents.  We  five,  though  instructed 
by  an  elder  sister  in  the  rudiments  of 
learning1,  spent  many  more  of  our  waking- 
hours  with  Mammy;  and  whilst  we  drew 
knowledge  from  one  source,  we  derived 
the  greater  part  of  our  pleasure  from  the 
other — that  is,  outside  of  our  playmates. 
The  moments  just  preceding  bedtime, 
in  which  we  were  undergoing  the  process 
of  disrobing  at  the  hands  of  Mammy, 
were  periods  of  dreadful  pleasure  to  us. 
As  I  look  back  upon  them,  I  wonder  that 
we  got  any  sleep  at  all  after  some  of  her 
recitals.  They  were  not  always  san 
guinary  or  ghostly,  and  of  course  when  I 
scan  them  in  the  light  of  later  years,  it  is 
apparent  that  Mammy,  like  the  majority 


n8  Harper's  Novelettes 

of  people,  "-without  regard  to  color  or 
previous  condition  of  servitude,"  suffered 
her  walk  and  conversation  to  be  influ 
enced  by  her  state  of  health,  mental  and 
bodily.  Her  walk — I  am  afraid  I  must 
admit,  as  all  biographers  seem  privileged 
to  deal  with  the  frailties  of  their  victims 
as  freely  as  with  their  virtues — her  walk, 
viewed  through  the  medium  already  al 
luded  to,  did  not  owe  its  occasional  un 
certainty  to  "very  coarse  veins,"  though 
that  malady,  with  a  slight  phonetic  dif 
ference,  Mammy  undoubtedly  suffered 
from,  in  common  with  the  facts.  She  was 
a  great  believer  in  "  dram "  as  a  reme 
dial  agent,  and  homoeopathic  practice 
was  unknown  with  us  at  that  period. 

Mammy's  code  of  laws  for  our  moral 
government  was  one  of  threats  of  being 
"  repoated  to  ole  mahster,"  tempered  by 
tea  of  her  own  making  dulcified  by  brown 
sugar  of  fascinating  sweetness,  anecdote, 
and  autobiography. 

The  anecdotal  part  consisted  almost 
exclusively  of  the  fascinating  repertoire 
of  Uncle  Remus.  Indeed,  to  know  the 
charm  of  that  chronicle  is  reserved  to  the 
man  or  woman  whose  childhood  dates 
from  the  ante  helium  period,  and  who 
had  a  Mammy. 

In  the   autobiographical  part  Mammy 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy  119 

spread  us  a  chilling  feast  of  horrors, 
varied  by  the  supernatural.  Long  years 
after  this  period  I  read  a  protest  in  some 
Southern  paper  against  this  practice  in 
the  nursery,  with  its  manifest  conse 
quences  on  the  minds  of  children.  It 
set  me  to  wondering  how  it  was  that  the 
consequences  in  my  day  seemed  inappre 
ciable.  I  do  not  understand  it  now. 
Some  of  Mammy's  stories  would  have 
been  bonanzas  to  a  police  reporter  of  to 
day;  others  would  have  bred  emulation 
in  Edgar  Poe.  And  yet  I  do  not  recall 
any  subsequent  terrors. 

An  account  of  the  execution  of  some 
pirates,  which  she  had  witnessed  when  a 
"gal,"  was  popular.  She  had  a  rhyme 
which  condensed  the  details.  The  con 
demned  were  Spaniards: 

Pepe  hung,  Qulo  fell, 

Felix  died  and  went  to  

Mammy  always  gave  the  rhyme  with 
awful  emphasis. 

She  had  had  an  experience  before  com 
ing  into  our  family,  by  purchase,  which 
gave  her  easy  precedence  over  all  the 
mammies  of  all  our  friends.  To  be  sure, 
it  was  an  experience  which  the  other 
mammies,  as  "good  membahs  of  de 
chutch,"  regarded  as  unholy;  one  which 


120  Harper's  Novelettes 

they  congratulated  themselves  would 
never  lie  on  their  consciences,  and  of 
which  poor  Mammy  was  to  die  unshriven 
in  their  minds;  for  she  never  became  a 
"  sister,"  so  far  as  I  ever  learned. 

But  to  us  this  experience  was  fruitful 
of  many  happy  hours.  Mammy  had  been 
tire-woman  to  Mrs.  Gilfert,  the  reigning 
star  of  that  date,  at  the  old  Marshall 
Theatre — the  successor  to  one  burnt  in 
1811. 

The  habit  of  the  stock  companies  in 
those  days  was  to  remain  the  whole  sea 
son,  sometimes  two  or  more,  so  Mammy 
had  the  opportunity  to  "  assist "  at  the 
entire  repertoire.  It  is  one  of  the  regrets 
of  my  life  that  I  am  not  able  to  recall 
verbatim  Mammy's  arguments  of  the 
play,  her  descriptions  of  some  of  the 
actors,  and  her  comments. 

For  some  reason,  when  later  on  I 
wished  to  refresh  my  memory  of  these, 
Mammy  had  either  forgotten  them  or 
suspected  the  intention  of  my  asking. 
She  ranked  her  experiences  at  the  theatre 
along  with  her  account  of  the  adventures 
of  the  immortal "  Mollie  Cottontail  "  (for 
we  did  not  know  him  as  "  Brer  Rabbit "), 
and  the  rest  of  her  lore,  I  suppose,  and 
so  could  not  realize  that  my  maturer 
mind  would  care  for  any  of  them. 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          121 

When  I  had  subsequently  made  some 
acquaintance  with  plays,  or  read  them,  I 
recognized  most  of  those  described  by 
Mammy.  Some  remain  unidentified. 
Hamlet  she  preserved  in  name.  Whilst 
she  had  no  quotations  of  the  words,  she 
had  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  ghost 
scenes,  and  "pisenin'  de  king's  ear." 
She  also  gave  us  scenes  in  which  "one 
uv  them  kings  was  hollerin'  for  his 
korse  »_plainly  Richard.  Julius  Csesar 
she  easily  kept  in  mind,  as  some  ac 
quaintance  of  her  color  bearing  that 
name  was  long  extant.  I  can  still  con 
jure  up  her  tones  and  manner  when  she 
declaimed: 

" (  Dat  you,  Brutus  ?'  An'  he  done  stick 
him  like  de  rest  uv  um;  and  him  raised 
in  de  Caesar  f  am'ly  like  he  wuz  a  son !" 

The  ingratitude  of  the  thing  struck 
through  our  night-gowns  even  then. 

The  period  when  Mammy's  sway  weak 
ened  was  indeterminate.  We  boys  after 
a  while  swapped  places  with  Mammy, 
and  made  her  the  recipient  of  our  small 
pedantries.  I  do  not  recollect,  however, 
that  we  were  ever  cruel  enough  to  throw 
her  ignorance  up  to  her. 

At  last  the  grown-up  sisters  absorbed 
all  of  Mammy's  spare  time.  Sympathy 
was  kept  up  between  them  after  her  bond 


122  Harper's  Novelettes 

with  us  was  loosened,  and  they  even  took 
hints  from  her  in  matters  of  the  toilet 
that  were  souvenirs  of  her  stage  days. 

In  the  course  of  time  reverses  and  be 
reavements  came  to  the  family.  The 
girls  had  grown  to  womanhood  and  mat 
rimony,  and  had  begun  their  new  lives 
in  other  places.  Then  came  the  inevita 
ble  to  the  elders,  and  it  became  necessary 
to  convert  all  property  into  cash. 

We  were  happy  in  being  able  to  retain 
a  good  many  of  our  household  gods,  and 
they  are  the  Lares  and  Penates  of  our 
several  homes  to  this  day.  We  had  long 
since  ceased  to  think  of  Mammy  Becky 
— she  was  never  Rebecca — as  property. 
In  fact,  we  younger  ones  never  thought 
of  her  as  such.  By  law  we  were  each 
entitled  to  a  fifth  in  Mammy. 

This  came  upon  us  in  the  nature  of  a 
shock  at  a  family  consultation  on  ways 
and  means,  and  there  was  a  disposition 
on  the  part  of  every  party  to  the  owner 
ship  to  shift  that  responsibility  to  an 
other. 

I  must  do  ourselves  the  justice  to  say 
that  such  a  thing  as  converting  Mammy 
into  cash,  and  thus  making  her  divisible, 
never  for  a  moment  entered  our  minds. 
It  seemed,  however,  that  the  difficulty  had 
occurred  to  her. 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          123 

We  all  felt  so  guilty,  when  Mammy 
served  tea  that  last  evening,  that  we  were 
sure  she  read  our  thoughts  in  our  coun 
tenances.  It  would  he  nearer  the  truth 
to  say  that  it  was  rather  our  fears  that 
she  should  ever  come  to  the  knowledge 
that  the  word  "sale"  had  been  coupled 
with  her  name. 

The  next  day  we  were  to  scatter,  and 
it  was  imperative  that  some  disposition 
should  be  made  of  Mammy.  The  old 
lady — for  old  we  deemed  her,  though  she 
could  scarcely  have  been  fifty  —  went 
calmly  about  the  house  looking  to  the 
packing  of  the  thousand  and  one  things, 
and  not  only  looking,  but  using  her 
tongue  in  language  expressing  utter  con 
tempt  for  all  "lazy  niggers"  of  these 
degenerate  days — referring  to  the  tem 
porary  "help."  The  eldest  sister  was 
deputed  to  approach  and  sound  Mammy 
on  the  momentous  question. 

The  deputy  went  on  her  mission  in 
fear  and  trembling.  The  interview  was 
easily  contrived  in  the  adjoining  room. 

We  were  exceedingly  embarrassed  when 
we  discovered  that  Mammy's  part  of  the 
dialogue  was  perfectly  audible.  As  for 
the  sister's,  her  voice  could  be  barely 
heard.  So  that  the  effect  to  the  unwill 
ing  eavesdropper  was  that  which  we  are 


124  Harper's  Novelettes 

familiar  with  in  these  days  of  hearing  a 
conversation  at  the  telephone. 

"Don't  you  bother  yo'self  'bout  me, 
Miss  Frances." 

Interval. 

"No,  marm.  I'd  ruther  stay  right 
here  in  dis  town  whar  ev'body  knows  me. 
Doan  yawl  study  'bout  me." 

Several  bars'  rest,  apparently. 

"Yes'm,  I  know  hit's  yo'  duty  to  look 
after  me,  an'  I  belongs  to  all  of  you ;  but 
Ise  concluded  to  let  yawl  off.  You  can't 
divide  me  into  five  parts,  an'  they  ain' 
nah  one  uv  you  'titled  to  any  partickler 
part  if  you  could;  most  uv  me  ain't 
much  'count  nohow,  what  with  very 
coarse  veins  an'  so  fothe.  Oh,  yes'm! 
I  done  study  'bout  it  plenty,  an'  I  done 
concluded  that  I'll  let  yawl  off  an'  do 
fur  myself.  You  know  I'm  a  prime  cake- 
maker,  bread-maker,  an'  kin  do  a  whole 
pahcel  uv  other  things  besides;  an'  dress 
young  ladies  for  parties,  whar  I  learnt  at 
the  ole  the-etter,  which  they  built  it  after 
the  fust  one  burnt  up  and  all  dem  people 
whar  dey  got  the  Monnymental  Chutch 
over  um  now ;  an'  any  kind  of  hair-dress- 
in',  curlin'  wid  irons  or  quince  juice,  an' 
so  fothe.  No,  don't  you  bother  'bout  me." 

So  Mammy  was  installed  in  a  small 
house  in  a  portion  of  the  city  occupied  by 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          125 

a  good  many  free  people,  and,  as  we  sub 
sequently  ascertained,  not  bearing  a  very 
savory  reputation. 

We  had  heard  it  rumored  that  there 
were  some  suitors  for  Mammy's  hand. 
She  had  always  avowed  that  she  had 
been  a  "likely  gal,"  but  we  had  to  take 
her  word  for  this,  as  she  had  very  slen 
der  claims  to  "likelihood" — if  the  word 
suits  hers — in  our  remembrance.  She 
was  nearly  a  mulatto — very  "light  gin 
gerbread,"  or  "  saddle-colored  " — and  a 
widow  of  some  years'  standing.  Still, 
there  was  no  accounting  for  tastes 
amongst  the  colored  folks,  any  more  than 
there  was  amongst  the  whites  in  this 
matter.  We  surmised  that  some  of  the 
aspirants  suspected  Mammy  of  having  a 
doi,  the  accumulation  of  many  perqui 
sites  for  her  assistance  on  wedding  oc 
casions.  It  may  be  remarked  that  she 
had  no  legal  right  to  demand  anything 
for  such  services. 

One  of  the  sisters  approached  Mammy 
timidly  on  this  subject,  and  was  assured 
positively  by  her  that  "  they  ain't  no  nig 
ger  in  the  whole  university  whar  I  would 
marry.  ISTo,  ma'm.  I  done  got  ?nough 
of  um." 

We  knew  that  Mammy's  married  life 
had  been  a  stormy  one.  Her  husband, 


126  Harper's  Novelettes 

Jerry,  had  been  a  skilful  coach-painter, 
and  got  good  wages  for  his  master,  who 
was  liberal  in  the  'lowance  that  was  made 
by  all  generous  owners  to  slaves  of  this 
class.  Jerry  was  a  fervent  "  professor," 
who  came  home  drunk  nearly  every 
night,  and  never  failed  to  throw  up  to 
Mammy  her  dangerous  spiritual  condi 
tion.  Jerry  was  so  vulnerable  a  subject 
that  Mammy  was  prepared  to  score  some 
strong  points  against  him.  He  invaria 
bly  met  these  retorts  with  roars  of  laugh 
ter  and  loud  assertions  of  his  being  "  in 
grace  once  for  all." 

Left  the  sole  representative  of  my 
family  in  the  city,  I  had  to  start  a  new 
establishment,  just  as  Mammy  did. 

I  made  a  visit  to  hers  a  few  days  after 
our  separation,  and  came  away  with  my 
heart  in  my  mouth  at  the  sight  of  some 
of  the  familiar  objects  of  Mammy's  room, 
and  such  of  our  own  as  she  had  fallen 
heir  to,  in  strange  places  and  appositions. 
I  also  felt  that  Mammy's  room  had  a 
more  homelike  aspect  than  my  own. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Mammy  en 
joyed  her  new  conditions  and  surround 
ings.  She  had  been  provided  with  a  pa 
per  signed  by  some  of  us,  stating  that 
it  was  with  our  permission  that  she  lived 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          127 

to  herself.  This  secured  her  free  move 
ment  at  all  times — the  privilege  of  very 
few  of  her  race  not  legally  manumitted. 

Her  visits  to  me  were  quite  frequent, 
and  she  never  failed  to  find  something 
that  needed  putting  to  rights,  and  put 
ting  it  so  immediately,  with  fierce  com 
ments  on  the  worthlessness  of  all  "  high 
lands,"  which  was  negroce  for  hirelings 
— a  class  held  in  contempt  by  the  ser 
vants  owned  in  families. 

I  think  that  Mammy  must  have  dis 
covered  the  fact  that  my  estate  was  some 
what  deteriorated. 

I  was  painfully  conscious  of  this  my 
self,  and  saw  no  prospect  of  its  ameliora 
tion.  The  little  cash  that  had  come  to 
me  was  quite  dissipated,  and  my  mea 
gre  salary  was  insufficient  to  satisfy  my 
artificial  wants — the  only  ones  that  a 
young  man  cannot  dispense  with  and  be 
happy. 

In  spite  of  the  opinion  prevailing  in 
those  days,  that  when  a  young  man  em 
braced  the  career  of  an  artist  it  was  a 
farewell  to  all  hope  of  a  sober  and  pros 
perous  career,  my  father  had  been  will 
ing  for  me  to  follow  my  manifest  bent, 
and  I  was  to  sacrifice  a  university  career 
as  the  alternative.  But  the  last  enemy 
stepped  between  me  and  my  hopes,  and 


128  Harper's  Novelettes 

there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  to 
work. 

I  had  an  ardent  admirer  in  Mammy, 
who,  in  her  innocence  of  a  proper  stand 
ard,  frequently  compared  my  productions 
to  a  "  music  back "  or  a  tobacco  label. 
That  was  before  the  days  of  chromos. 

Mammy  turned  up  Sunday  mornings 
to  look  after  my  buttons.  Those  were 
days  of  fond  reminiscence  and  poignant 
regret  on  my  part. 

"  Seems  to  me  hit's  time  for  you  to  be 
getting  some  new  shirts,  Mahs  William/' 
she  said,  one  Sunday  morning.  Mammy 
touched  me  sorely  there.  A  crisis  was 
certainly  impending  in  my  lingerie. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  not.  You  must  have 
got  hold  of  a  bad  one,  Mammy." 

"  I  got  hole  uv  all  uv  um  what  is  out 
uv  wash;  and  them  gwine.  The  buttons 
is  shackledy  on  all  uv  um,  too.  I  wish  I 
wuz  a  washer;  then  you  wouldn't  have 
to  give  yo'  clothes  out  to  these  triflin' 
huzzies  whar  rams  a  iron  over  yo'  things 
like  they  wuz  made  uv  iron  too." 

"  I  suppose  that  you  are  getting  along 
pretty  well,  Mammy,"  I  remarked,  irrele 
vantly. 

"  Oh,  I  kain'  complain.  I  made  two 
dollars  an'  five  an'  threppence  out'n  the 
Scott  party  last  week;  an'  I  hear  tell  uv 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          129 

some  new  folks  on  Eranklin  Street  gwine 
give  a  big  party,  an'  I'm  spectin'  some- 
thin'  out  uv  dat.  Lawdy,  Lawdy,  Mahs 
William,"  she  added,  after  a  pause  given 
to  reflection,  "  hit  certainly  does  'muse 
me  to  see  how  some  'r  dese  people  done 
come  up.  But  they  kain'  fool  me.  I 
knows  what's  quality  in  town  an'  what 
ain't.  I  can  reckermember  perfick  when 
some  uv  these  vay  folks,  when  dey  come 
to  your  pa's  front  do',  never  expected  to 
be  asked  in,  but  jess  wait  thar  'bout  their 
business  ontwell  yo'  pa  got  ready  to  talk 
to  um  at  the  do'.  Yes,  sah.  I  bin  see 
some  uv  dese  vay  people's  daddies " — 
Mammy  used  this  word  advisedly — 
"kayin'  their  vittles  in  a  tin  bucket  to 
their  work;  that  what  I  bin  see." 

I  was  shaving  during  this  monologue 
of  Mammy's,  with  my  back  to  her.  A 
sudden  exclamation  of  the  name  of  the 
Lord  made  me  start  around  and  endan 
ger  my  nose.  I  was  not  startled  at  the 
irreverence  of  the  expression,  however, 
as  sacred  names  were  familiar  interjec 
tions  of  Mammy's,  as  of  all  her  race. 

"  Ev'y  button  ofFn  these  draw's,"  Mam 
my  answered  to  my  alarmed  question — 
alarmed  because  I  anticipated  some  dis 
aster  to  my  wardrobe.  "  Hit's  a  mortal 
shame.  I'll  take  'em  home,  an'  Monday 

o     S.L. 


130  Harper's  Novelettes 

I'll  get  some  buttons  on  Broad  Street  an' 
sew  um  on." 

This  was  embarrassing.  I  had  twelve 
and  a  half  cents  in  Spanish  silver  coin 
which  I  had  reserved  for  the  plate  at 
church  that  day.  I  was  going  under  cir 
cumstances  that  rendered  a  contribution 
unavoidable.  I  hated  to  expose  my  nar 
row  means  to  Mammy,  and  said,  care 
lessly,  as  I  returned  to  my  lather :  "  Oh, 
never  mind.  Another  time  will  do, 
Mammy." 

"  Another  time !  You  reckermember 
my  old  sayin',  don't  you,  '  a  stitch  in  time 
saves  nine'?  An'  mo'n  dat,  bein'  as  this 
is  the  only  clean  pah  you  got,  you  'bleest 
to  have  um  next  week  fer  de  others  to 
go  to  wash." 

•  Confession  was  inevitable.  "  The  fact 
is,  Mammy,  I  don't  happen  to  have  any 
change  to-day  that  I  can  hand  you  for 
the  buttons."  I  was  thankful  that  my 
occupation  permitted  me  to  keep  my  face 
from  Mammy. 

"Oh,  ez  fer  that,  Mahs  William,  yo' 
needn't  bother.  I  got  'nough  change 
'round  'most  all  de  time." 

Mammy's  tone  was  patronizing,  and 
brought  home  to  me  such  a  realization  of 
my  changed  and  waning  fortunes  as  no 
other  circumstance  could  have  done.  Pos- 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          131 

sibly  I  may  have  imagined  it  in  my  hy- 
persensitiveness,  but  Mammy's  voice  in 
that  sentence  seemed  transformed,  and  it 
was  another  mammy  who  spoke. 

I  apparently  reserved  my  protest  until 
some  intricate  passage  in  my  shaving 
was  passed.  At  least  I  thought  that 
Mammy  would  think  so.  I  was  really 
trying  to  put  my  reply  in  shape. 

I  was  anticipated. 

"  You  know  you  is  really  'titled  to  yo' 
fif's  by  law,  Mahs  William,"  resumed 
Mammy,  in  her  natural  manner,  "be 
cause  still  bein'  bond,  you  could  call  on 
me,  an'  I  don't  begrudge  you;  in  fact, 
Ise  beholden  to  you." 

"Not  at  all,  Mammy.  Don't  talk  any 
more  about  my  fifth.  You  are  as  good 
as  free,  you  know." 

"I  knows  that,  Mahs  William;  but 
right  is  right,  and  I  gwine  to  pay  for 
them  buttons." 

"  Well,  you  may  do  that  this  time, 
Mammy,  but  I  shall  certainly  return  you 
the  money." 

"  Jess  as  you  choose,  Mahs  William, 
but  you's  'titled  to  yo'  fif  all  the  same." 

I  must  note  here  a  characteristic  of 
Mammy's  which  had  strengthened  as  her 
powers  failed,  namely,  "nearness."  The 
euphemism  applied  at  first,  though  Mam- 


132  Harper's  Novelettes 

my  yielded  to  temptations  in  the  way  of 
outfit  as  long  as  she  deemed  herself 
"likely."  After  that  period  a  stronger 
expression  was  required.  She  was  al 
ways  in  possession  of  money,  and  was 
frequently  our  banker  for  a  day,  when, 
in  emergencies,  our  parents  were  not  on 
hand. 

Monday  I  found  my  garment  with  its 
full  complement  of  buttons,  but  of  such 
diversity  of  pattern  that  I  planned  a  pro 
test  for  Mammy's  next  visit. 

But  when  she  explained  that  the  bill 
was  only  fo'pence  —  six  and  a  quarter 
cents,  Spanish  —  and  that  it  was  the 
fashion  now,  so  she  was  told,  "  to  have 
they  buttons  diffunt,  so  they  could  den- 
trify  they  clothes,"  I  settled  without  re 
mark.  Mammy's  financial  skill  and  re 
source  in  imagination  condoned  every 
thing. 

It  is  painful  to  record  that  Mammy, 
encouraged  by  immunity  from  inquiry 
and  investigation,  no  doubt,  was  tempt 
ed,  as  thousands  of  her  betters  have  been 
and  will  be,  and  yielded  under  subse 
quent  and  similar  circumstances. 

My  affairs  took  an  unexpected  turn 
now,  and  circumstances  which  have  no 
place  here  made  it  possible  for  me  to  go 
to  New  York,  with  the  intention  of  study- 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          133 

ing  for  my  long-cherished  purpose  of 
making  art  my  calling. 

I  heard  from  Mammy  from  time  to 
time — occasionally  got  a  letter  dictated 
by  her.  They  opened  with  the  same  for 
mula,  beginning  with  the  fiction  that  she 
"  took  her  pen  in  her  hand,"  and  contin 
uing,  "these  few  lines  leaves  me  toller- 
bul,  and  hoping  to  find  you  the  same." 
My  friend,  the  amanuensis,  took  great 
pleasure  in  reporting  Mammy  verbatim 
and  phonetically.  The  times  were  always 
hard  for  Mammy  in  these  letters,  but 
she  "was  scufflin'  'long,  thank  Gawd,  an' 
ain't  don'  forgot  my  duty  to  the  'state 
'bout  them  fif's." 

On  my  periodical  visits  home  I  always 
called  upon  her,  and  had  a  royal  recep 
tion.  I  had  casually  said  in  a  message 
to  her  in  one  of  my  letters  that  I  never 
would  forget  her  black  tea  and  brown 
sugar.  The  old  dame  remembered  this, 
and  on  my  first  visit  home  and  to  her, 
and  on  all*  succeeding  visits,  treated  me 
to  a  brew  of  my  favorite. 

"  Jess  the  same,  Mahs  William.  Come 
from  Mr.  Blar's  jess  the  same." 

But  we  become  sophisticated  in  time. 
I  found  that  Mammy's  tea  lingered  in 
my  memory,  it  is  true;  and  the  prospect 
of  a  recurrence  very  nearly  operated 


134  Harper's  Novelettes 

against  future  visits.  But  virtue  assert 
ed  herself,  and  I  always  went. 

War  now  supervened.  To  it  the 
brushes  and  the  palette  yielded.  I  re 
turned  home,  and  to  arms.  While  all 
this  made  a  complete  revolution  in  my 
affairs,  those  of  Mammy  seemed  to  hold 
the  even  tenor  of  their  way. 

I  saw  Mammy  every  time  I  had  a  fur 
lough,  and  she  repaired  for  me  damages 
of  long  standing.  In  sentiment  she  was 
immovably  on  my  side.  She  objected 
decidedly  to  any  more  of  "  them  no- 
'count  men  bein'  sot  free,"  and  was  very 
doubtful  whether  any  more  of  her  own 
sex  should  be  so  favored,  except  "  settled 
women." 

I  do  not  know  whether  Mammy  had  a 
lurking  suspicion  that  general  manumis 
sion  meant  competition  or  not.  So  far 
as  I  could  make  out,  she  fared  as  she  had 
long  elected  to  do.  Bacon  and  greens 
and  her  perennial  tea  were  good  enough 
for  her.  And  here  may  be  noted  the 
average  negro's  indifference  to  caste.  In 
my  experience  I  never  knew  them  to  give 
up  "strong  food"  for  delicate  fare  ex 
cept  on  prescription. 

The  next  phase  of  my  intercourse  with 
Mammy  was  after  the  evacuation  of  the 
city  and  the  event  of  Appomattox.  The 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          135 

first  incident  was,  with  the  negroes'  usual 
talent  that  way,  so  transmogrified  in  pro 
nunciation  that  it  could  mean  nothing 
to  them.  It  stood  to  them  for  a  tremen 
dous  change,  one  which  could  not  be  con 
densed  into  a  word,  even  though  it  ex 
ceeded  their  powers  to  pronounce  it. 

I  had  come  back,  as  had  thousands  of 
others,  with  nothing  in  my  hands,  and 
only  a  few  days'  rations  accorded  by  the 
enemy  in  my  haversack;  had  come  back 
to  a  mass  of  smoking  debris  and  a  wide 
area  of  ruin  which  opened  unrecognized 
vistas  that  puzzled,  dazed,  and  pained 
the  home-seeker. 

By  instinct,  I  suppose,  I  drifted 
towards  my  ante  helium  quarters.  My 
former  landlord  gave  me  a  speechless 
welcome.  To  my  inquiry  as  to  the  pos 
sibility  of  my  reinhabiting  my  old 
quarters,  he  simply  nodded  and  handed 
me  the  key.  The  tears  that  I  had  seen 
standing  on  his  lids  rolled  down  as  he 
did  so. 

The  room  was  cumbered  with  the  chat 
tels  of  the  last  tenant.  There  was  no  bed 
amongst  them,  but  a  roll  of  tattered  car 
pet  served  me  perfectly.  I  fell  asleep 
over  a  slab  of  hardtack.  That  evening, 
on  waking,  I  bethought  me  of  Mammy. 

My  kind  host   allowed  me  to  make  a 


136  Harper's  Novelettes 

toilet  in  his  back  room  behind  the  store. 
It  consisted  of  a  superficial  ablution  and 
the  loan  of  a  handkerchief.  Mammy  was 
not  in.  A  neighbor  of  her  sex  and  color 
offered  me  a  chair  in  her  house,  but  I  sat 
in  Mammy's  tiny  porch. 

This  part  of  the  city  was  unchanged, 
but  I  missed  a  familiar  steeple  which 
had  always  been  visible  from  Mammy's 
door. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Mammy 
came.  She  did  not  recognize  me,  but 
paused  at  the  gate. 

"Ef  you's  a  sick  soldier  you  must  go 
to  the  hospital;  you  kain'  stay  here,"  I 
heard  her  say  before  I  roused  myself 
sufficiently  to  speak. 

"  Mammy." 

An    ejaculation    of   the    name    of   th 
Lord   that   brought  the  neighbor  to  her 
door  went  up,   and  Mammy  caught  my 
hands  and  wept. 

"Come  in,  my  Gawd!  Mahs  William! 
you  ain'  hurted,  is  you?" 

She  pushed  a  chair  to  me  and  took  one 
herself.  For  a  few  moments  she  con 
fined  herself  to  ejaculations  of  "Well! 
well!  well!"  and  the  name  of  the  Deity. 
Then,  "  The  town  is  bu'nt  up ;  the  army 
done  'rendered,  an'  Mahs  William  come 
back  ragged  ez  a  buzzard!" 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          137 

I  did  not  interrupt  her.  I  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say,  and  began  to  be  afraid 
that  something  was  the  matter  with  my 
brains.  Meanwhile  Mammy  was  bustling 
about,  and  before  I  knew  it  she  had  start 
ed  the  little  fire  into  a  blaze  and  the  tea 
was  boiling. 

The  flickering  light  glinted  over  the 
walls.  At  first  I  did  not  heed  what  it 
revealed;  then  I  saw  it  glow  and  fade 
over  some  early  efforts  of  my  own,  frame- 
less  crudities,  to  which  Mammy  had  fall 
en  heir.  They  had  become  old  masters! 
What  centuries  ranged  themselves  be 
tween  the  birth  of  those  pictures  and 
now! 

This  time  tea  was  nectar,  and  after  I 
had  eaten  a  little  cold  middling  bacon 
and  hoe-cake,  that  she  had  put  before 
me  on  a  fractured  member  of  our  old 
Canton  set,  I  took  a  more  cheerful  view 
of  life.  I  believe  that  I  would  have  shed 
tears  over  these  poor  relics  from  happier 
days,  except  that  I  was  not  quite  con 
scious  that  anything  was  real  that  day. 
I  told  Mammy  where  I  was.  She  seemed 
to  think  it  perfectly  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  I  should  be  there.  Indeed, 
she  appeared  singularly  calm  in  this 
cataclysm. 

I  encountered  friends  on  my  return  to 


138  Harper's  Novelettes 

my  quarters,  and  had  invitations  innu 
merable  to  meals  and  shelter.  My  cos 
tume  was  no  drawback.  Nobody  knew 
how  anybody  was  dressed. 

The  city  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement 
over  the  probable  fate  of  those  who  had 
not  yet  returned,  and  in  making-  provi 
sion  for  the  homeless.  Mammy  turned 
up  next  morning-  with  some  of  my  civil 
ian  clothes  that  had  been  confided  to  her. 

Mammy's  simple  "  What  you  gwine 
do  now,  Mahs  William?"  thrown  in 
whilst  she  assisted  by  her  presence  at 
my  complete  change  of  toilet — lapse  of 
time  was  nothing-  to  her — woke  me  to 
the  momentous  problem.  There  was  no 
commissary  sergeant  to  distribute  even 
the  meagre  rations  that  so  long  left  us 
ravenous  after  every  meal.  I  could  not 
camp  in  the  Capitol  Square,  even  if  I 
had  wished  so  to  do. 

Mammy  left  me  with  the  injunction 
to  call  on  her  "  ef  I  didn't  have  nowhar 
else  to  go." 

I  went  with  unbroken  fast  to  see  what 
was  left  of  the  city.  I  met  many  ac 
quaintances  on  the  same  errand.  Nono 
of  us  seemed  to  realize  that  day  what 
was  to  be  done.  For  four  years  our 
campaigns  had  been  planned  for  us. 

I  learned  from  one  acquaintance,  how- 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          139 

ever,  that  I  could  have  rations  for  the 
asking,  and  not  long  after  found  myself 
in  line  at  the  United  States  Commissary 
Department,  along  with  hundreds  of 
others,  and  departed  thence  hearing  a 
goodly  portion  of  hardtack  and  codfish. 
These  I  took  to  Mammy,  who  cooked  the 
fish  for  me  under  loud  protests  against 
the  smell. 

Not  long  thereafter  a  number  of  us 
paroled  soldiers  made  a  mess,  and  cooked 
for  ourselves  at  the  room  of  one  of  them. 

On  one  of  these  indeterminate  days — • 
dates  had  become  nothing  to  me — I  saw 
a  dapper  young  man  sketching  about  the 
ruins.  I  spoke  to  him,  and  mentioned 
that  his  had  been  my  profession.  This 
acquaintance  was  the  beginning  of  hope. 

I  showed  the  young  man  places  of  in 
terest,  gave  him  points  about  a  good 
many  things,  and  at  last  fell  to  making 
sketches  to  help  him  out.  They  were 
perfectly  satisfactory  and  liberally  paid 
for.  With  this  capital  I  set  myself  up  in 
another  place,  whicfr  had  a  north  light — 
by-the-way,  I  had  been  dispossessed  of 
the  asylum  where  I  first  found  shelter, 
as  the  previous  tenant  returned.  I  was 
able  to  purchase  material  and  apparel. 
But  what  was  I  to  paint,  and  where  to 
sell  the  product?  My  hand  was  out,  I 


14°  Harper's  Novelettes 

discovered,  so  I  set  to  studying  still  life, 
and  painting  those  of  my  friends  who 
had  the  patience  to  sit. 

I  would  have  gone  back  to  my  old 
haunts  in  New  York  but  for  the  material 
reason  that  my  funds  were  too  low,  and 
the  sentimental  one  that  I  not  only  was 
not  in  the  humor  for  appealing  to  citi 
zens  of  that  section  for  patronage,  but 
was  not  sure  that  it  would  not  be  with 
held,  from  an  analogous  state  of  mind 
towards  me. 

Summer  ran  into  fall.  Mammy's  visits 
increased  in  frequency,  and  her  conver 
sation  drifted  towards  the  difficulties  of 
living. 

I  had  long  ago  discharged  all  of  her 
claims  for  material  and  repairs,  but  I 
noticed  a  tendency  on  her  part  to  prepare 
my  mind  for  a  regular  subsidy.  I  ig 
nored  these  hints  because  it  was  impos 
sible  for  me  to  carry  out  Mammy's  plan, 
and  painful  for  me  to  say  so. 

She  approached  the  matter  in  a  differ 
ent  way  finally,  and  said,  one  day : 

"  Mahs  William,  you  been  cayin'  on 
yo'  fif  for  some  time  now.  Doan  you 
think  it's  time  for  some  of  the  yothers 
to  look  after  them?" 

I  suggested  that  the  whole  family  was 
about  on  a  parity  financially;  that  one 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy  141 

brother  was  drifting  in  the  trans-Missis 
sippi,  another  living  more  precariously 
than  I  was.  Suddenly  a  thought  struck 
me,  and  I  proposed  that  Mammy  should 
apply  to  my  married  sister  in  the  coun 
try,  who  could  at  least  give  her  a  home. 

Mammy  was  very  nearly  indignant  in 
her  rejection  of  the  proposition. 

"  Me  live  in  de  country !  Why,  Mahs 
William,  I'm  town-bred  to  de  backbone. 
What  I  gwine  do  thar?  Whar's  anybody 
whar'll  want  my  sponge-cake,  jelly,  and 
blue-monge,  whar  I  can  git  ez  much  ez  I 
wants  to  do  in  town  ?  Who  gwine  want 
my  clar-starchin'  an'  pickle-makin'  an' 
ketchups?  Dem  tacky  people  doan  want 
none  of  my  makin's." 

I  ventured  to  remind  Mammy  that  all 
dwellers  in  the  country  were  not  tackies. 

"  I  know  dat,  sah ;  but  whole  parcel  of 
um  is.  Besides,  heap  uv  de  quality  folks 
is  poor  an'  in  trouble  sence  the  revacker- 
ation.  I'd  rather  give  up  my  other  fif's 
fust." 

Of  course  Mammy's  propositions  were 
contradictory,  but  I  had  long  known  that 
she  was  not  gifted  with  a  logical  mind, 
so  I  made  no  attempt  to  convict  her  of 
inconsistency. 

From  time  to  time  I  got  small  jobs  of 
drawings  for  architects,  as  people  had  be- 


142  Harper's  Novelettes 

gun  to  bestir  themselves  and  rebuild.  I 
had  been  assured  that  I  would  find  no 
prejudice  against  me  in  New  York,  but 
would  stand  on  my  own  merits.  I  was 
not  profoundly  convinced  that  this  was 
a  safe  risk  for  me  to  take.  But  living 
here  was  becoming  impossible.  Our  own 
people  were  out  of  the  question  as  pur 
chasers  of  pictures.  My  still-lifes,  from 
long  exposure  in  the  window  of  a  friend 
ly  merchant  in  Broad  Street,  were  be 
coming  the  camping-ground  of  the  flics, 
and  deteriorating  rapidly.  I  was  not 
strong  in  landscape,  and  the  only  sub 
jects  which  suggested  themselves  were 
military,  taken  from  my  point  of  view 
politically,  and  not  likely  to  be  converti 
ble  into  cash  by  persons  of  other  convic 
tions. 

I  was  leaning  against  my  ceiling  one 
gray  afternoon  —  at  least  I  suppose  it 
should  be  called  ceiling,  for  it  ran  from 
the  highest  part  of  the  chamber  on  an 
angle  to  the  floor,  and  was  pierced  by  a 
dormer — and  contemplating  a  bunch  of 
withered  flowers  which  I  had  studied 
almost  into  dissolution,  when  Mammy 
knocked. 

I  had  laid  my  palette  on  the  floor,  and 
was  standing  with  my  hands  in  my 
pockets.  They  fumbled,  on  one  side  with 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy  143 

my  bunch  of  keys,  on  the  other  with  a 
small  roll  of  small  bills,  the  dreadful 
fractional  currency  of  that  era,  whilst, 
in  imagination,  I  projected  my  motive 
on  the  bare  canvas,  a  twenty  by  twenty- 
four.  I  was  sorry  that  Mammy  had  come, 
because  a  subject  was  beginning  to  take 
form  in  my  mind.  It  was  suggested  by 
the  withered  flowers. 

I  thought  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea 
to  group  them  with  a  bundle  of  letters, 
some  showing  age,  the  top  one  with  a 
recent  postmark,  and  call  the  composi 
tion  "Dead  Hopes."  My  thoughts  were 
divided  between  the  selection  of  a  post 
mark  for  the  top  letter  and  the  possibil 
ity  of  getting  a  frame,  whilst  Mammy 
was  going  through  the  process  of  finding 
a  chair  and  seating  herself.  The  invita 
tion  to  come  in  implied  the  other  cour 
tesies. 

The  old  lady  was  marvellously  attired, 
and  I  wondered  what  could  be  the  occa 
sion  of  it.  She  had  on  a  plaid  shawl  of 
purple,  green,  and  red  checkers,  crossed 
on  her  bosom.  Around  her  throat  there 
was  a  lace  collar  of  some  common  sort, 
held  by  a  breastpin  of  enormous  value 
if  calculated  by  the  square  inch.  She 
wore  her  usual  turban  of  red  and  white, 
but  on  the  top  of  it  to-day  was  a  straw 


144  Harper's  Novelettes 

bonnet  of  about  the  fashion  of  1835, 
with  flowers  inside,  and  from  it  depend 
ed  a  green  veil.  Her  frock  was  silk  of 
an  indescribable  tint,  the  result  of  years 
of  fading,  and  was  flounced.  The  old 
lady  had  freed  herself  of  her  black  cot 
ton  gloves,  and  was  rolling  them  into  a 
ball.  I  sighe-d  inwardly,  for  this  was  the 
outward  sign  of  undeterminable  sitting. 

Suddenly  the  self  -  arranged  color 
scheme  struck  me  as  the  cool  light  fell 
over  Mammy.  I  seated  myself  and 
seized  my  palette. 

"  Sit  still,  Mammy,  right  where  you 
are.  I'm  going  to  paint  you." 

"Namer  Gawd!  paint  me,  Mahs  Wil 
liam?  After  all  dem  pretty  things  whar 
you  kin  paint,  paint  yo'  old  Mammy?" 
She  slapped  herself  on  the  knees,  called 
the  name  of  the  Lord  several  times,  and 
burst  into  the  heartiest  laugh  that  I  had 
heard  from  her  for  some  time. 

"Yes,  Mammy,  just  sit  right  still,  and 
don't  talk  much,  and  I  won't  make  you 
tired." 

I  worked  frantically,  getting  in  the 
drawing  as  surely  as  I  could,  then  at 
tacked  the  face  in  color.  The  result  was 
a  success  that  astonished  me.  Mammy's 
evident  fatigue  stopped  me.  It  was  for 
tunate.  I  might  have  painted  more  and 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          145 

spoiled  my  study.  I  thought  that  she 
would  go  now,  but  her  mission  was  not 
fulfilled.  She  had  come  to  consult  me 
on  an  important  matter. 

"You  know  this  Freedman's  Bureau, 
Mahs  William?  Well,  they  tells  me— 
Lawd  knows  what  they  calls  it  bureau 
for! — they  tells  me  that  ef  a  colored 
pusson  goes  down  thar  and  gives  in  what 
he  wuz  worth — women  either,  mind  you 
— that  the  guv'mint  would  pay  um." 

Mammy  paused  for  corroboration,  but 
I  determined  to  hear  what  she  might  add 
to  this  remarkable  statement.  "Well?" 
"Well,  sah,  I  didn't  want  to  go  down 
thar  without  no  price,  so  I  called  in  to 
arst  you  what  you  might  consider  yo'  fif> 
worth,  an'  five  times  ovah." 

I  did  not  laugh  at  Mammy.  The  eman 
cipated  negroes  had  such  utterly  wild 
notions  of  what  was  going  to  be  done 
for  them  that  Mammy's  statement  did 
not  surprise  me  very  much.  I  let  her 
go  with  the  assurance  that  I  would  in 
quire  into  the  matter.  She  left  enjoin 
ing  me  not  to  put  that  "  fif '  too  cheap/' 
and  I  insisting  that  she  should  not  go  to 
the  Bureau,  in  deference  to  whose  officials 
her  astonishing  toilet  had  evidently  been 
made. 
I  was  so  much  pleased  with  my  own 

10       S.  L. 


146  Harper's  Novelettes 

work  that  it  was  nearly  twilight  before 
the  knock  of  a  familiar  friend  roused  me. 
He  was  a  clever  amateur,  and  took  the 
greatest  interest  in  my  work.  His  en 
thusiasm  over  Mammy's  effigy  made  me 
glow.  He  agreed  to  pose  for  me  in 
Mammy's  costume. 

Next  day  I  borrowed  the  outfit  without 
intimating  that,  it  was  to  be  worn  by  any 
body.  Mammy  was  over-nervous  about 
its  being  properly  cared  for.  I  think 
that  she  still  contemplated  appearing  in 
it  at  the  Bureau. 

In  a  week  the  picture  was  complete. 
My  model  and  I  went  out  and  celebrated 
appropriately  but  frugally. 

A  small  label  in  the  corner  gave  the 
title  to  the  picture — "  My  old  Mammy." 

My  friend  gave  my  work  a  place  in  hia 
window,  and  my  acquaintances  generally 
accorded  unqualified  praise.  The  older 
ones  recognized  Mammy  at  once. 

Pending  a  purchaser  for  this,  I  started 
my  deferred  subject,  and  changed  it  into 
a  figure  piece.  A  lovely  friend  was  my 
model.  She  contemplated  the  flowers 
and  letters.  Above  the  old  piece  of  fur 
niture  on  which  she  leaned  there  hung 
a  photograph,  a  sword,  and  a  sash — a 
more  striking  suggestion  of  my  first  title, 
"Dead  Hopes."  How  little  I  dreamed, 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          147 

as  I  worked,  that  there  was  such  happy 
irony  in  the  name,  and  that  Mammy 
could  ever,  in  the  remotest  way,  conduce 
to  such  a  result ! 

Nearly  every  morning  I  hovered  about 
my  friend's  establishment  at  a  sufficient 
distance'to  elude  suspicion  of  my  anxiety, 
but  easily  in  visual  range  of  my  ex 
hibit. 

One  morning  it  was  not  visible.  I 
rushed  to  the  store  with  a  throbbing 
breast.  Alas!  the  picture  had  only  been 
shifted  to  another  light.  Before  the  re 
vulsion  of  feeling  had  time  to  overpower 
me  I  was  seized  by  my  friend  the  mer 
chant. 

"  It's  a  regular  play,"  he  exclaimed. 

He  forced  me  to  a  seat  on  a  pile  of 
cheese-boxes,  and  facing  me,  began: 

"Yesterday,  the  old  lady,"  pointing  to 
the  picture,  "  came  in.  She  took  no  no 
tice  of  her  portrait,  but  said  that  she  had 
failed  to  find  you;  that  she  was  anxious 
to  hear  what  you  had  done  about  the  Bu 
reau  business."  (I  had  forgotten  it  ut 
terly.)  "  Well,  I  could  tell  her  nothing, 
and  she  started  to  go  out  just  as  a  group 
opened  the  door  to  come  in.  Mammy 
made  one  of  her  courtly  bows,  and  gave 
place.  The  young  lady  who  was  one 
of  the  three  coming  in,  the  others  evi- 


148  Harper's  Novelettes 

dently  her  parents,  said,  in  a  loud  whis 
per,  'Why,  it's  she!'  Mammy,  who 
either  did  not  hear  or  did  not  under 
stand,  was  about  to  pass  out,  when  the 
young  lady  accosted  her  with,  '  I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  isn't  that  your  por 
trait?' 

" '  I  grant  you  grace,  young  mistiss,  but 
sence  I  looks,  hit  is.  Hit  wuz  did  by  my 
young  mahster,  which  he  can  do  all 
kinds  of  pictures  lovely.' 

" l  Your  young  master  ?'  the  young  lady 
said — sweet  voice,  too;  dev'lish  handsome 
girl — 'your  young  master?'  Then  she 
said  aside  to  the  others,  l  Isn't  it  charm 
ingly  interesting?' 

"'Yes,  'm,  I  call  him  so.  But  really 
I'm  only  his'n  a  fif  V 

"fllis  fif?'  the  young  lady  said,  look 
ing  puzzled.  I  stepped  up  to  them  to  ex 
plain,  just  for  politeness,  though  I  was 
sure  that  they  weren't  customers.  '  She 
means  that  he  owned  a  fifth  interest  in 
her  previous  to — the  recent  change  in 
affairs/ 

" '  That's  hit/  said  Mammy,  nodding 
to  them.  'But  I  don't  expect  to  hear 
from  the  other  fif 's.  It  don't  make  much 
diffunce,  howsomever,  bein'  ez  how  the 
Bureau  is  gwine  settle  up.' 

"The  visitors  evidently  did  not  under- 


My  Fifth  In  Mammy          149 

stand  this.  I  explained  what  Mammy 
was  after — you  had  told  me,  you  know. 
They  were  very  much  amused,  and  asked 
a  heap  of  questions.  After  a  little  talk 
between  themselves,  in  which  I  could  not 
help  seeing  that  the  young  lady  was  very 
earnest,  the  gentleman  asked : 

"'Is  the  work  for  sale?'  Was  it  for 
sale!" 

My  friend  nearly  prostrated  me  with  a 
hearty  punch  hy  way  of  expressing  his 
feelings,  whilst  I  was  choking  for  an  an 
swer. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  gave  him  the  figger.  He 
bought  so  quick  that  it  made  me  sick  I 
hadn't  asked  more.  Looker  here  I" 

He  displayed  two  new  greenbacks 
which  covered  the  amount.  We  em 
braced. 

At  last  Mammy  had  become  a  source 
of  revenue.  I  must,  in  justice  to  myself, 
record  the  fact  that  a  resolve  immediately 
took  form  in  my  mind  that  she  also 
should  be  a  beneficiary  of  my  good  for 
tune. 

My  friend  wanted  me  to  take  the  pic 
ture  down  myself.  I  told  him  that  it  was 
not  ethical  to  do  so.  The  precious  bur 
den  was  confided  to  his  porter.  When 
we  returned  to  his  store  we  found  the 
gentleman  there  who  had  made  the 


ISO  Harper's  Novelettes 

purchase.  I  was  duly  presented  by  my 
friend. 

The  gentleman  said  that  he  had  not 
noticed  my  name  on  the  picture  particu 
larly,  nor  on  the  receipt  given  hy  the  mer 
chant  for  the  money,  which  gave  the  title 
and  painter  of  the  work,  until  he  had 
gotten  back  to  the  hotel,  when  his  wife 
recognized  it  and  remembered  having 
been  in  my  studio — a  fine  name  for  a 
small  concern — in  New  York,  and  that 
we  had  many  friends  in  common  there. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  the 
gentleman  gave  me  an  invitation  to  call 
at  the  Spottswood.  I  went  the  next  day. 

They  were  immensely  amused  and  in 
terested  with  any  particulars  about  her. 
The  father — the  names  are  immaterial, 
the  young  lady's  was  Elaine — asked  me 
jocularly  at  what  sum  I  estimated  my 
fifth  in  Mammy.  I  had  previously  con 
vinced  him  that  we  never  had  the  re 
motest  idea  of  parting  with  the  old  lady. 
Consequently  we  had  never  estimated  her 
value,  but  that  I  thought  my  fifth  at  the 
time  of  the  settling  of  the  estate  would 
have  been  about  one  hundred  dollars. 
After  I  had  made  several  visits,  the  three 
came  to  see  my  other  picture. 

The  day  after  their  departure  Mammy 
called.  She  was  in  fine  spirits  over  a 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          151 

visit  that  she  had  made  to  my  new 
friends,  at  their  earnest  request.  All  the 
time  that  she  was  speaking  she  was  work 
ing  at  a  knot  in  the  corner  of  her  hand 
kerchief.  I  knew  that  she  kept  her  small 
valuables  there,  but  was  thunderstruck 
when  she  extracted  two  fifty-dollar  bills. 

"  Why,  Mammy !     Where—" 

"Dat's  all  right,  honey.  The  Bureau 
gent'man  fix  it  all,  jess  like  I  tole  you. 
He  said  dat  he  done  'nquired,  an'  yo'  fif 
was  wuth  dat — two  fifties,  one  hundred — 
an'  I  let  him  off  de  res'." 

"  But  what  gentleman  1" 

"  Dat  gent'man  whar  was  at  de  Spotts- 
wood  Hotel.  He  tole  me  he  wuz  agent 
for  de  Bureau.  An'  I  tell  you,  Mahs 
William,  dey's  quality,  dem  folks.  You 
kain'  fool  Becky." 

Of  course  I  did  not  enlighten  Mammy. 
What  would  have  been  the  use  ? 

Not  many  days  thereafter  I  got  a  re 
quest  to  ship  my  "Dead  Hopes,"  at  my 
price,  to  the  address  of  a  frame-maker 
in  New  York.  Elaine's  father  said  that 
he  had  a  purchaser  for  it.  I  discovered 
later  that  he  was  a  master  of  pleasant  fic 
tion. 

When  I  wondered,  long  after,  to  him 
that  he  should  have  bought  a  Confederate 
picture,  he  convinced  me  that  my  picture 


152  Harper's  Novelettes 

had  nothing  Confederate  in  it;  that  he 
had  inferred  that  1  had  painted  it  in  a 
catholic  spirit.  The  lady  was  in  mourn 
ing,  the  flowers  faded,  the  letters  too 
small  for  postmark,  the  picture  on  the 
wall  a  colorless  photograph,  and  the 
sword  a  regulation  pattern  common  to 
both  armies.  He  thought  it  very  skil 
fully  planned,  and  complimented  me  on 
it.  I  was  silent.  All  the  Confederate 
part  and  point  had  been  in  my  mind. 

About  a  year  after  this — I  had  been  lo 
cated  in  New  York  some  months — Elaine 
and  I  came  on  a  visit  to  Richmond.  I 
might  just  as  well  say  that  it  was  our 
bridal  trip. 

We  looked  up  Mammy  in  her  comfort 
able  quarters.  She  had  been  well  pro 
vided  for.  There  was  some  little  confu 
sion  in  her  mind  at  first  as  to  who  Elaine 
was,  but  on  being  made  to  understand, 
called  down  fervent  blessings  upon  her 
head. 

"  Now  the  old  lady  kin  go  happy.  I 
always  said  that  I  had  nussed  Mahs  Wil 
liam,  an'  ef  I  jess  could  live  long  'nuff 
to— 

Elaine  cut  in  rather  abruptly,  I  thought. 

"  Why,  Mammy,  what  a  beautiful  vine 
you  have  on  your  stoop!" 

"  What's  stoop,  honey?    Dat's  a  poach." 


My  Fifth  in  Mammy          153 

Mammy  lived  some  years  longer,  aging 
comfortably,  and  unvexed  by  any  ques 
tion  of  fractions.  She  died  a  serene  in 
teger,  with  such  comfortable  assurance  of 
just  valuation  as  is  denied  most  of  us, 
and  contented  that  it  should  be  expressed 
in  terms  that  were,  to  her,  the  only  sure 
criterion  applicable  to  her  race. 


An   Incident 

BY  SARAH   BARNWELL  ELLIOTT 

IT  was  an  ordinary  frame  house  stand 
ing  on  brick  legs,  and  situated  on  a 
barren  knoll,  which,  because  of  the 
dead  level  of  marsh  and  swamp  and  de 
serted  fields  from  which  it  rose,  seemed 
to  achieve  the  loneliness  of  a  real  height. 
The  south  and  west  sides  of  the  house 
looked  out  on  marsh  and  swamp;  the 
north  and  east  sides  on  a  wide  stretch  of 
old  fields  grown  up  in  broom-grass.  Be 
yond  the  marsh  rolled  a  river,  now  quite 
beyond  its  banks  with  a  freshet;  beyond 
the  swamp,  which  was  a  cypress  swamp, 
rose  a  railway  embankment  leading  to  a 
bridge  that  crossed  the  river.  On  the 
other  two  sides  the  old  fields  ended  in  a 
solid  black  wall  of  pine-barren.  A  road 
way  led  from  the  house  through  the 
broom-grass  to  the  barren,  and  at  the 
beginning  of  this  road  stood  an  out 
house,  also  on  brick  legs,  which,  save  for 
a  small  stable,  was  the  sole  out-building. 


An  Incident  155 

One  end  of  this  house  was  a  kitchen,  the 
other  was  divided  into  two  rooms  for 
servants.  There  were  some  shattered  rem 
nants  of  oak-trees  out  in  the  field,  and 
some  chimneys  overgrown  with  vines, 
showing-  where  in  happier  times  the  real 
homestead  had  stood. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  February;  a 
clear  afternoon  drawing  toward  sunset; 
and  all  the  flat,  sad  country  was  covered 
with  a  drifting  red  glow  that  turned  the 
field  of  broom-grass  into  a  sea  of  gold; 
that  lighted  up  the  black  wall  of  pine- 
barren,  and  shot,  here  and  there,  long 
shafts  of  light  into  the  sombre  depths  of 
the  cypress  swamp.  There  was  no  sign 
of  life  about  the  dwelling-house,  though 
the  doors  and  windows  stood  open;  but 
every  now  and  then  a  negro  woman  came 
out  of  the  kitchen  and  looked  about,  while 
within  a  dog  whined. 

Shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  this 
woman  would  gaze  across  the  field  tow 
ard  the  ruin;  then  down  the  road;  then, 
descending  the  steps,  she  would  walk  a 
little  way  toward  the  swamp  and  look 
along  the  dam  that,  ending  the  yard  on 
this  side,  led  out  between  the  marsh  and 
the  swamp  to  the  river.  The  over-full 
river  had  backed  up  into  the  yard,  how 
ever,  and  the  line  of  the  dam  could  now 


156  Harper's  Novelettes 

only  be  guessed  at  by  the  wall  of  solemn 
cypress-trees  that  edged  the  swamp.  Still, 
the  woman  looked  in  this  direction  many 
times  and  also  toward  the  railway  em 
bankment,  from  which  a  path  led  toward 
the  house,  crossing  the  heap  of  the  swamp 
by  a  bridge  made  of  two  felled  trees. 

But  look  as  she  would,  she  evidently 
did  not  find  what  she  sought,  and  mut 
tering  "Lawd!  Lawd!"  she  returned  to 
the  kitchen,  shook  the  tied  dog  into  si 
lence,  and  seating  herself  near  the  fire, 
gazed  sombrely  into  its  depths.  A  cov 
ered  pot  hung  from  the  crane  over  the 
blaze,  making  a  thick  bubbling  noise,  as 
if  what  it  contained  had  boiled  itself  al 
most  dry,  and  a  coffee-pot  on  the  hearth 
gave  forth  a  pleasant  smell.  The  woman 
from  time  to  time  turned  the  spit  of  a 
tin  kitchen  wherein  a  fowl  was  roasting, 
and  moved  about  the  coals  on  the  top  of 
a  Dutch  oven  at  one  side.  She  had  made 
preparation  for  a  comfortable  supper,  and 
evidently  for  others  than  herself. 

She  went  again  to  the  open  door  and 
looked  about,  the  dog  springing  up  and 
following  to  the  end  of  his  cord.  The 
sun  was  nearer  the  horizon  now,  and  the 
red  glow  was  brighter.  She  looked  tow 
ard  the  ruin;  looked  along  the  road; 
came  down  the  steps  and  looked  toward 


An  Incident  157 

the  swamp  and  the  railway  path.  This 
time  she  took  a  few  steps  in  the  direction 
of  the  house;  looked  up  at  its  open  win 
dows,  at  the  front  door  standing  ajar,  at  a 
pair  of  gloves  and  a  branch  from  the  vine 
at  the  ruin,  that  lay  on  the  top  step  of 
the  piazza,  as  if  in  passing  one  had  put 
them  there,  intending  to  return  in  a  mo 
ment.  While  she  looked  the  distant 
whistle  of  a  locomotive  was  heard  echo 
ing  back  and  forth  about  the  empty  land, 
and  the  rumble  of  an  approaching  train. 
She  turned  a  little  to  listen,  then  went 
hurriedly  back  to  the  kitchen. 

The  rumbling  sound  increased,  al 
though  the  speed  was  lessened  as  the 
river  was  neared.  Very  slowly  the  train 
was  moving,  and  the  woman,  peeping 
from  the  window,  watched  a  gentleman 
get  off  and  begin  the  descent  of  the  path. 

"Mass  Johnnie!"  she  said.  "Lawd! 
Lawd!"  and  again  seated  herself  by  the 
fire  until  the  rapid,  firm  footstep  having 
passed,  she  went  to  the  door,  and  stand 
ing  well  in  the  shadow,  watched. 

Up  the  steps  the  gentleman  ran,  paus 
ing  to  pick  up  the  gloves  and  the  bit  of 
vine.  The  negro  groaned.  Then  in  the 
open  door,  "Nellie!"  he  called,  "Nel 
lie!" 

The  woman  heard  the  call,  and  going 


158  Harper's  Novelettes 

back  quickly  to  her  seat  by  the  fire,  threw 
her  apron  over  her  head. 

"Abram!"  was  the  next  call;  then, 
"Aggie!" 

She  sat  quite  still,  and  the  master,  run 
ning  up  the  kitchen  steps  and  coming  in 
at  the  door,  found  her  so. 

"Aggie!" 

"  Yes,  suh." 

"  Why  didn't  you  answer  me  ?" 

The  veiled  figure  rocked  a  little  from 
side  to  side. 

"What  the  mischief  is  the  matter?" 
walking  up  to  the  woman  and  pulling 
the  apron  from  over  her  face.  "Where 
is  your  Miss  Nellie?" 

"I  dun'no',  suh;  but  yo'  supper  is 
ready,  Mass  Johnnie." 

"  Has  your  mistress  driven  anywhere  ?" 

"  De  horse  is  in  de  stable,  suh."  ^  The 
woman  now  rose  as  if  to  meet  a  climax, 
but  her  eyes  were  still  on  the  fire. 

"Did  she  go  out  walking?" 

"  Dis  mawiiin',  suh." 

"This  morning!"  he  repeated,  slowly, 
wonderingly,  "and  has  not  come  back 
yet?" 

The  woman  began  to  tremble,  and  her 
eyes,  shining  and  terrified,  glanced  fur 
tively  at  her  master. 

"Where  is  Abram?" 


An  Incident  159 

"I  dun'no',  suh!"  It  was  a  gasping 
whisper. 

The  master  gripped  her  shoulder,  and 
with  a  maddened  roar  he  cried  her  name 
—"Aggie!" 

The  woman  sank  down.  Perhaps  his 
grasp  forced  her  down.  " To'  Gawd!" 
she  cried— "'fo'  Gawd,  Mass  Johnnie,  I 
dun'no'!"  holding  up  beseeching  hands 
between  herself  and  the  awful  glare  of 
his  eyes.  "  I'll  tell  you,  suh,  Mass  John 
nie,  I'll  tell  you!"  crouching  away  from 
him.  "  Miss  Nellie  gimme  out  dinner  en 
supper,  den  she  put  on  she  hat  en  gone 
to  de  ole  chimbly  en  git  some  de  brier 
what  grow  dey.  Den  she  come  back  en 
tell  Abram  fuh  git  a  bresh  broom  en 
sweep  de  ya'd.  Lemme  go,  Mass  John 
nie,  please,  suh,  en  I  tell  you  better,  suh. 
En  Abram  teck  de  hatchet  en  gone 
to'des  de  railroad  fuh  cut  de  bresh.  To' 
Gawd,  Mass  Johnnie,  it's  de  trute,  suh  I 
Den  I  tell  Miss  Nellie  say  de  chicken  is 
all  git  out  de  coop,  en  she  say  I  muss 
ketch  one  fuh  unner  supper,  suh;  en  I 
teck  de  dawg  en  gone  in  de  fie?  fuh  look 
fuh  de  chicken.  En  I  see  Miss  Nellie 
put  'e  glub  en  de  brier  on  de  step,  en 
walk  to'des  de  swamp,  like  'e  was  goin' 
on  de  dam — 'kase  de  water  ent  rise  ober 
de  dam  den — en  den  I  gone  in  de  broom- 


160  Harper's  Novelettes 

grass  en  I  run  de  chicken,  en  I  ent  ketch 
one  tay  I  git  clean  ober  to  de  woods. 
En  when  I  come  back  de  glub  is  layiii' 
on  de  step,  en  de  brier,  des  like  Miss 
Nellie  leff  urn — "  She  stopped,  and  her 
master  straightened  himself. 

"Well,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
strained  and  weak. 

The  servant  once  more  flung  her  apron 
over  her  head,  and  broke  into  violent 
crying.  "Dat's  all,  Mass  Johnnie!  dat's 
all!  I  dun'no'  wey  Abram  is  gone;  I 
dun'no'  what  Abram  is  do!  Nobody  ent 
been  on  de  place  dis  day — dis  day  but 
me — but  me!  Oh,  Lawd!  oh,  Lawd  en 
Gawd!" 

The  master  stood  as  if  dazed.  His  face 
was  drawn  and  gray,  and  his  breath  came 
in  awful  gasps.  A  moment  he  stood  so, 
then  he  strode  out  of  the  house.  With  a 
howl  the  dog  sprang  forward,  snapping 
the  cord,  and  rushed  after  his  master. 

The  woman's  cries  ceased,  and  without 
moving  from  her  crouching  position  she 
listened  with  straining  ears  to  the  sounds 
that  reached  her  from  the  stable.  In  a 
moment  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  going 
at  a  furious  pace  swept  by,  then  a  dead 
silence  fell.  The  intense  quiet  seemed  to 
rouse  her,  and  going  to  the  door,  she 
looked  out.  The  glow  had  faded,  and  the 


An  Incident  161 

gray  mist  was  gathering  in  distinct 
strata  above  the  marsh  and  the  river. 
She  went  out  and  looked  ahout  her  as 
she  had  done  so  many  times  during  that 
»  long  day.  She  gazed  at  the  water  that 
was  still  rising;  she  peered  cautiously 
behind  the  stable  and  under  the  houses; 
she  approached  the  wood-pile  as  if  under 
protest,  gathered  some  logs  into  her  arms 
and  an  axe  that  was  lying  there;  then 
turning  toward  the  kitchen,  she  hastened 
her  steps,  looking  back  over  her  shoulder 
now  and  again,  as  if  fearing  pursuit. 
Once  in  the  kitchen  she  threw  down  the 
wood  and  barred  the  door;  she  shut  the 
boarded  window-shutter,  fastening  it  with 
an  iron  hook;  then  leaning  the  axe 
against  the  chimney,  she  sat  down  by  the 
fire,  muttering,  "  If  dat  nigger  come 
sneakin'  back  yer  now,  I'll  split  'e  haid 
open,  sho." 

Recovering  a  little  from  her  panic,  she 
was  once  more  a  cook,  and  swung  the 
crane  from  over  the  fire,  brushed  the 
coals  from  the  top  of  the  Dutch  oven, 
and  pushed  the  tin  kitchen  farther  from 
the  blaze.  "Mass  Johnnie  '11  want 
sump'h'n  to  eat  some  time  dis  night,"  she 
said;  then,  after  a  pause,  "en  I  gwine 
eat  now."  She  got  a  plate  and  cup,  and 
helped  herself  to  hominy  out  of  the  pot, 

II         S.  L. 


162  Harper's  Novelettes 

and  to  a  roll  out  of  the  oven  ;  but  though 
she  looked  at  the  fowl  she  did  not  touch 
it,  helping  herself  instead  to  a  goodly  cup 
of  coffee.  So  she  ate  and  drank  with  the 
axe  close  beside  her,  now  and  then  paus 
ing  to  groan  and  mutter  —  "  Po'  Mass 
Johnnie!  —  po'  Mass  Johnnie!  —  Lawd! 
Lawd  !  —  if  Miss  Nellie  had  er  sen'  Abram 
atter  dat  chicken  —  like  I  tell  um  — 
Lawd  !"  shaking  her  head  the  while. 

Through  the  gathering  dusk  John  Mor 
ris  galloped  at  the  top  speed  of  his  horse. 
Reaching  the  little  railway  station,  he 
sprang  off,  throwing  the  reins  over  a 
post,  and  strode  in. 

"Write  this  telegram  for  me,  Green," 
he  said  ;  "  my  hand  trembles. 

fr  To  Sam  Pariin,  Sheriff,  Pineville  : 

"  My  wife  missing  since  morning.  Ne 
gro,  Abram  Washington,  disappeared. 
Bring  men  and  dogs.  Get  off  night  train 
this  side  of  bridge.  Will  be  fire  on  the 
path  to  mark  the  place. 

MORRIS." 


"Great  God!"  the  operator  said,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I'll  come  too,  Mr.  Morris." 

"  Thank  you,"  John  Morris  answered. 
"  I'm  going  to  get  the  Wilson  boys,  and 
Rountree  and  Mitchell,"  and  for  the  first 


An  Incident  163 

time  the  men's  eyes  met.  Determined, 
deadly,  sombre,  was.  the  look  exchanged ; 
then  Morris  went  away. 

None  of  the  men  whom  Morris  sum 
moned  said  much,  nor  did  they  take  long 
to  arm  themselves,  saddle,  and  mount,  and 
by  nine  o'clock  Aggie  heard  them  come 
galloping  across  the  field;  then  her  mas 
ter's  voice  calling  her.  There  was  little 
time  in  which  to  make  the  signal-fire  on 
the  railroad  embankment,  and  to  cut 
light-wood  into  torches,  even  though  there 
were  many  hands  to  do  the  work.  John 
Morris's  dog  followed  him  a  part  of  the 
way  to  the  wood-pile,  then  turned  aside 
to  where  the  water  had  crept  up  from 
the  swamp  into  the  yard.  Aggie  saw 
the  dog,  and  spoke  to  Mr.  Morris. 

"Dat's  de  way  dat  dawg  do  dis  mawn- 
in',  Mass  Johnnie,  an'  when  I  gone  to 
ketch  de  chicken,  Miss  Nellie  was  walkin' 
to'des  dat  berry  place." 

An  irresistible  shudder  went  over  John 
Morris,  and  one  of  the  gentlemen  stand 
ing  near  asked  if  he  had  a  boat. 

"  The  bateau  was  tied  to  that  stake 
this  morning,"  Mr.  Morris  answered, 
pointing  to  a  stake  some  distance  out  in 
the  water;  "but  I  have  another  boat  in 
the  top  of  the  stable."  Every  man  turned 
to  go  for  it,  showing  the  direction  of  their 


1 64  Harper's  Novelettes 

fears,  and  launched  it  where  the  log 
bridge  crossed  the  head  of  the  swamp,  and 
where  now  the  water  was  quite  deep. 

The  whistle  was  heard  at  the  station, 
and  the  rumble  of  the  on-coming  train. 
The  fire  flared  high,  lighting  up  the  group 
of  men  standing  about  it,  booted  and 
belted  with  ammunition-belts,  quiet,  and 
white,  and  determined. 

Many  curious  heads  looked  out  as  the 
sheriff  and  his  men — six  men  besides 
Green  from  the  station — got  off ;  then  the 
train  rumbled  away  in  the  darkness  tow 
ard  the  surging,  turbulent  river,  and  the 
crowd  moved  toward  the  house. 

Mr.  Morris  told  of  his  absence  in  town 
on  business.  That  Abram  had  been  hired 
first  as  a  field-hand;  and  that  later,  after 
his  marriage,  he  had  taken  Abram  from 
the  field  to  look  after  his  horse  and  to  do 
the  heavier  work  about  the  house  and 
yard. 

"And  the  woman  Aggie  is  trust 
worthy?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it ;  she  used  to  belong  to 
us." 

"  Abram  is  a  strange  negro  ?" 

"Yes." 

Then  Aggie  was  called  in  to  tell  her 
story.  Abram  had  taken  the  hatchet 
and  had  gone  toward  the  railroad  for 


An  Incident  165 

brush  to  make  a  broom.  She  had  taken 
the  dog  and  gone  into  the  broom-grass  to 
catch  a  fowl,  and  the  last  she  had  seen 
of  her  mistress  she  was  walking  toward 
the  dam,  which  was  then  above  the  wa 
ter. 

"How  long  were  you  gone  after  the 
chicken  ?" 

"  I  dun'no',  suh ;  but  I  run  um  clean  to 
de  woods  'fo'  I  ketch  um,  en  I  walk  back 
slow  'kase  I  tired." 

"  Were  you  gone  an  hour  ?" 

"  I  spec  so,  suh,  'kase  when  I  done 
ketch  de  chicken  I  stop  fuh  pick  up  some 
light-wood  I  see  wey  Abram  been  cuttin' 
wood  yistiddy." 

"  And  your  mistress  was  not  here  when 
you  came  back — nor  Abram?" 

"  No,  suh,  nobody ;  en  'e  wuz  so  lone 
some  I  come  en  look  in  dis  house  fuh 
Miss  Nellie,  but  'e  ent  deyyer;  en  I  look 
in  de  bush  fuh  Abram,  but  I  ent  see  um 
nudder.  En  de  dawg  run  to  de  water 
en  howl  en  ba'k  en  ba'k  tay  I  tie  um 
up  in  de  kitchen." 

"And  was  the  boat  tied  to  the  stake 
this  morning?" 

"  Yes,  suh ;  en  when  I  been  home  long 
time  en  git  scare,  den  I  look  en  see  de 
boat  gone." 

"  You   don't  think  that  your  mistress 


1 66  Harper's  Novelettes 

got  in  the  boat  and  drifted  away  by  ac 
cident?" 

"No,  suh,  nebber,  suh;  Miss  Nellie 
'fraid  de  water  lessen  Mass  Johnnie  is 
wid  urn." 

"  Is  Abram  a  good  boy  ?" 

"I  dunW,  suh;  I  dun'no'  nuffin  'tall 
'bout  Abram,  suh;  Abram  is  strange  nig 
ger  to  we." 

"Did  he  take  his  things  out  of  his 
room?" 

"  Abram  t'ings  ?  Ki !  Abram  ent  hab 
nuttin'  ceppen  what  Miss  Nellie  en  Mass 
Johnnie  gi'  um.  No,  suh,  dat  nigger  ent 
hab  nuttin'  but  de  close  on  'e  back  when 
'e  come  to  we." 

The  sheriff  paused  a  moment.  "I 
think,  Mr.  Morris,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that 
we'd  better  separate.  You,  with  Mr.  Mit 
chell  and  Mr.  Rountree,  had  better  take 
your  boat  and  hunt  in  the  swamp  and 
marsh,  and  along  the  river-bank.  Let 
Mr.  Wilson,  his  brothers,  and  Green  take 
your  dog  and  search  in  the  pine-barren. 
I'll  take  my  men  and  my  dogs  and  cross 
the  railroad.  The  signal  of  any  discovery 
will  be  three  shots  fired  in  quick  succes 
sion.  The  gathering-place  '11  be  this 
house,  where  a  member  of  the  discovering 
party  '11  meet  the  other  parties  and  bring 
'em  to  the  discovery.  And  I  beg  that 


An  Incident  167 

you'll  refrain  from  violence,  at  least  un 
til  we  can  reach  each  other.  We've  no 
proof  of  anything — " 

"Damn  proof!" 

"An7  our  only  clew,"  the  sheriff  went 
on,  "  the  missing  boat,  points  to  Mrs. 
Morris's  safety."  A  little  consultation 
ensued;  then  agreeing  to  the  sheriff's 
distribution  of  forces,  they  left  the  house. 

The  sheriff's  dogs  —  the  lean,  small 
hounds  used  on  such  occasions — were  tied, 
and  he  held  the  ropes.  There  was  an 
anxious  look  on  his  face,  and  he  kept  his 
dogs  near  the  house  until  the  party  for 
the  barren  had  mounted  and  ridden  away, 
and  the  party  in  the  boat  had  pushed  off 
into  the  blackness  of  the  swamp,  a  torch 
fastened  at  the  prow  casting  weird,  un 
certain  shadows.  Then  ordering  his  six 
men  to  mount  and  to  lead  his  horse,  he 
went  to  the  room  of  the  negro  Abram 
and  got  an  old  shirt.  The  two  lean  lit 
tle  dogs  were  restless,  but  they  made  no 
sound  as  he  led  them  across  the  railway. 
Once  on  the  other  side,  he  let  them  smell 
the  shirt,  and  loosed  them,  and  was  about 
to  mount,  when,  in  the  flash  of  a  torch, 
he  saw  something  in  the  grass. 

"A  hatchet!"  he  said  to  his  compan 
ions,  picking  it  up;  "and  clean,  thank 
God!" 


168  Harper's  Novelettes 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  then 
one  said,  slowly,  "He  coulder  drowned 
her?" 

The  sheriff  did  not  answer,  but  followed 
the  dogs  that  had  trotted  away  with  their 
noses  to  the  ground. 

"I'm  sure  the  nigger  came  this  way," 
the  sheriff  said,  after  a  while.  "Those 
others  may  find  the  poor  young  lady,  but 
I  feel  sure  of  the  nigger." 

One  of  the  men  stopped  short.  "  That 
nigger's  got  to  die,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course,"  the  sheriff  answered,  "  but 
not  by  Judge  Lynch's  court.  This  cir 
cuit's  got  a  judge  that  '11  hang  him  law 
fully." 

"  I  b'lieve  Judge  More  will,"  the  recal 
citrant  admitted,  and  rode  on.  "But," 
he  added,  "if  I  know  Mr.  John  Morris, 
that  nigger's  safe  to  die  one  way  or  an 
other." 

They  rode  more  rapidly  now,  as  the 
dogs  had  quickened  their  pace.  The 
moon  had  risen,  and  the  riding,  for  men 
who  hunted  recklessly,  was  not  bad. 
Through  woods  and  across  fields,  over 
fences  and  streams,  down  by-paths  and 
old  roads,  they  followed  the  little  dogs. 

"We're  makin'  straight  for  the  next 
county,"  the  sheriff  said. 

"We're   makin'    straight    for   the   old 


An  Incident  169 

Powis  settlement,"  was  answered.  "  No- 
thin'  but  niggers  have  lived  there  since 
the  war,  an'  that  nigger's  there,  I'll 
bet." 

"  That's  so,"  the  sheriff  said.  "  About 
how  many  niggers  live  there  now  ?" 

"  There  ain't  more  than  half  a  dozen 
cabins  left  now.  We  can  easy  manage 
that  many." 

It  was  a  long  rough  ride,  and  in  spite 
of  their  rapid  pace  it  was  some  time  after 
midnight  before  they  saw  the  clearing 
where  clustered  the  few  cabins  left  of  the 
plantation  quarters  of  a  well-known  place, 
which  in  its  day  had  yielded  wealth  to  its 
owners.  The  moon  was  very  bright,  and, 
save  for  the  sound  of  the  horses'  feet,  the 
silence  was  intense. 

"Look  sharp,"  the  sheriff  said;  "that 
nigger  ain't  sleepin'  much  if  he's  here, 
and  he  might  try  to  slip  off." 

The  dogs  were  going  faster  now,  and 
yelping  a  little. 

"Keep  up,  boys!"  and  the  sheriff 
spurred  his  horse. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  thundered  into 
the  little  settlement,  where  the  dogs  were 
already  barking  and  leaping  against  a 
close-shut  door.  Frightened  black  faces 
began  to  peer  out.  Low  exclamations  and 
guttural  ejaculations  were  heard  as  the 


170  Harper's  Novelettes 

armed  men  scattered,  one  to  each  cabin, 
while  the  sheriff  hammered  at  the  door 
where  the  dogs  were  jumping. 

"It's  the  sheriff!"  he  called,  "come  to 
get  Abram  Washington.  Bring  him  out 
and  you  kin  go  back  to  your  beds.  We're 
all  armed,  and  nobody  need  to  try  run- 
ninV 

The  door  opened  cautiously,  and  an  old 
negro  looked  out.  "  Abram's  my  son, 
Mr.  Partin,"  he  said,  "  an'  >fo'  Gawd  he 
ent  yer." 

"  No  lyin',  old  man ;  the  dogs  brought 
us  straight  here.  Don't  make  me  burn 
the  house  down;  open  the  door." 

The  door  was  closing,  when  the  sheriff, 
springing  from  his  horse,  forced  it  stead 
ily  back.  A  shot  came  from  within,  but  it 
ranged  wild,  and  in  an  instant  the  sher 
iff's  pistol  covered  the  open  room,  where  a 
smouldering  fire  gave  light.  Two  of  the 
men  followed  him,  and  one,  making  for 
the  fire,  pushed  it  into  a  blaze,  which 
revealed  a  group  of  negroes — an  old 
man,  a  young  woman,  some  children,  and 
a  young  man  crouching  behind  with  a 
gun  in  his  hand.  The  sheriff  walked 
straight  up  to  the  young  man,  whose 
teeth  were  chattering. 

"  I  arrest  you,"  he  said ;  "  come  on." 

"  That's   the  feller,"   confirmed  one  of 


An  Incident  171 

the  guard ;  "  I've  seen  him  at  Mr.  Morris's 
place." 

"  Tie  him,"  the  sheriff  ordered,  "  while 
I  git  that  gun.  Give  it  to  me,  old  man, 
or  I'll  take  you  to  jail  too."  It  was  yield 
ed  up — an  old-time  rifle — and  the  sheriff 
smashed  it  against  the  side  of  the  chim 
ney,  throwing  the  remnants  into  the  fire. 
"  Lead  on,"  he  said,  and  the  young  negro 
was  taken  outside.  Quickly  he  was  lifted 
on  to  a  horse  and  tied  there,  while  the 
former  rider  mounted  behind  one  of  his 
companions,  and  they  rode  out  of  the  set 
tlement  into  the  woods. 

"Git  into  the  shadows,"  one  said; 
"  they  might  be  fools  enough  to  shoot." 

Once  in  the  road,  the  sheriff  called  a 
halt.  "  One  of  you  must  ride  back  to  Mr. 
Morris's  place  and  collect  the  other 
search-parties,  while  we  make  for  Pine- 
ville  jail.  Now,  Abram,  come  on." 

"  I  ent  done  nuttin',  Mr.  Parin,  suh," 
the  negro  urged.  "  I  ent  hot  Mis'  Morris." 

"  Who  said  anything  'bout  Mrs.  Mor 
ris?"  was  asked,  sharply. 

The  negro  groaned. 

"You're  hanging  yourself,  boy,"  the 
sheriff  said ;  "  but  since  you  know,  where 
is  Mrs.  Morris  ?" 

"  I  dun'no',  suh." 

"Why  did  you  run  away?" 


172  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  'Kase  I  'f raid  Mr.  Morris." 

"What  were  you  'fraid  of?" 

:f  'Kase  Mis'  Morris  gone." 

They  were  riding  rapidly  now,  and  the 
talk  was  jolted  out. 

"Where?" 

"  I  dun'iio',  suh,  but  I  ent  tech  um." 

"You're  a  damned  liar." 

"  No,  suh,  I  ent  tech  um ;  I  des  look  at 
um." 

"I'd  like  to  gouge  your  eyes  out!" 
cried  one  of  the  men,  and  struck  him. 

"None  o'  that!"  ordered  the  sheriff. 
"  And  you  keep  your  mouth  shut,  Abram ; 
you'll  have  time  to  talk  on  your  trial." 

"  Blast  a  trial !"  growled  the  crowd. 

"  The  rope's  round  his  neck  now,"  sug 
gested  one,  "  and  I  see  good  trees  at  every 
step." 

"  Please,'  suh,  gentlemen,"  pleaded  the 
shaking  negro,  "  I  ent  done  nuttin'." 

"  Shut  your  mouth !"  ordered  the  sher 
iff  again,  "  and  ride  faster.  Day  '11  soon 
break." 

"You're  'fraid  Mr.  Morris  '11  ketch  us 
'fore  we  reach  the  jail,"  laughed  one  of 
the  guard.  And  the  sheriff  did  not 
answer. 

The  eastern  sky  was  gray  when  the 
party  rode  into  Pineville,  a  small,  strag 
gling  country  town,  and  clattered  through 


An  Incident  173 

its  one  street  to  the  jail.  To  the  negro, 
at  least,  it  was  a  welcome  moment,  for, 
with  his  feet  tied  under  the  horse,  his 
hands  tied  behind  his  back,  and  a  rope 
with  a  slip-knot  round  his  neck,  he  had 
not  found  the  ride  a  pleasant  one.  A 
misstep  of  his  horse  would  surely  have 
precipitated  his  hanging,  and  he  knew 
well  that  such  an  accident  would  have 
given  much  satisfaction  to  his  captors. 
So  he  uttered  a  fervent  "  Teng  Gawd!" 
as  he  was  hustled  into  the  jail  gate  and 
heard  it  close  behind  him. 

Early  as  it  was,  most  of  the  town  was 
up  and  excited.  Betting  had  been  high 
as  to  whether  the  sheriff  would  get  the 
prisoner  safe  into  the  jail,  and  even  the 
winners  seemed  disappointed  that  he  had 
accomplished  this  feat,  although  they 
praised  his  skilful  management.  But  the 
sheriff  knew  that  if  the  lady's  body  was 
found,  that  if  Mr.  Morris  could  find  any 
proof  against  the  negro,  that  if  Mr.  Mor 
ris  even  expressed  a  wish  that  the  negro 
should  hang,  the  whole  town  would  side 
with  him  instantly ;  and  the  sheriff  knew, 
further,  that  in  such  an  emergency  he 
would  be  the  negro's  only  defender,  and 
that  the  jail  could  easily  be  carried,  by 
the  mob. 

All  these  thoughts  had  been  with  him 


J74  Harper's  Novelettes 

during  the  long  night,  and  though  he 
himself  was  quite  willing  to  hang  the 
negro,  being  fully  persuaded  of  his  guilt, 
he  was  determined  to  do  his  official  duty, 
and  to  save  the  prisoner's  life  until  sen 
tence  was  lawfully  passed  on  him.  But 
how?  If  he  could  quiet  the  town  before 
the  day  brightened,  he  had  a  plan,  but  to 
accomplish  this  seemed  wellnigh  impos 
sible'. 

He  handcuffed  the  prisoner  and  locked 
him  into  a  cell,  then  advised  his  escort  to 
go  and  get  food,  as  before  the  day  was 
done — indeed,  just  as  soon  as  Mr.  Morris 
should  reach  the  town — he  would  proba 
bly  need  them  to  help  him  defend  the  jail. 

They  nodded  among  themselves,  and 
winked,  and  laughed  a  little,  and  one  said, 
"  Right  good  play-actin' " ;  and  watch 
ing,  the  sheriff  knew  that  he  could  de 
pend  on  only  one  man,  his  own  brother, 
to  help  him.  But  he  sent  him  off  along 
with  the  others,  and  was  glad  to  see  that 
the  crowd  of  townspeople  went  with  his 
guard,  listening  eagerly  to  the  details  of 
the  suspected  tragedy  and  the  subsequent 
hunt.  This  was  his  only  chance,  and  he 
went  at  once  to  the  negro's  cell. 

"  Now,  Abram,"  he  said,  "  if  you  don't 
want  to  be  a  dead  man  in  an  hour's  time, 
you'd  better  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you." 


An  Incident  175 

"Yes,  suh,  please  Gawd." 

"Put  on  this  old  hat,"  handing  him 
one,  "  and  pull  it  down  over  your  eyes, 
and  follow  me.  When  we  get  outside, 
you  walk  along  with  me  like  any  ordinary 
nigger  going  to  his  work;  and  remember, 
if  you  stir  hand  or  foot  more  than  a  walk, 
you  are  a  dead  man.  Come  on." 

There  was  a  back  way  out  of  the  jail, 
and  to  this  the  sheriff  went.  Once  out 
side,  he  walked  briskly,  the  negro  keeping 
step  with  him  diligently.  They  did  not 
meet  any  one,  and  before  very  long  they 
reached  the  sheriff's  house,  which  stood 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Being  a 
widower,  he  knocked  peremptorily  on  the 
door,  and  when  it  was  opened  by  his  son, 
he  marched  his  prisoner  in  without  ex 
planation. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Willie,"  he  said,  "  and 
load  the  Winchester." 

"  Please,  suh — "  interjected  the  negro. 

For  answer,  the  sheriff  took  a  key  from 
the  shelf,  and  led  him  out  of  the  back 
door  to  where,  down  a  few  steps,  there 
was  another  door  leading  into  an  under 
ground  cellar. 

"Now,  Abram,"  he  said,  "you're  to 
keep  quiet  in  here  till  I  can  take  you  to 
the  city  jail.  There  is  no  use  your  try 
ing  to  escape,  because  my  two  boys  '11  be 


1 76  Harper's  Novelettes 

about  here  all  day  with  their  repeating 
rifles,  and  they  can  shoot." 

"  Yes,  suh." 

"  And  whoever  unlocks  this  door  and 
tells  you  to  come  out,  you  do  it,  and  do  it 
quick." 

"  Yes,  suh." 

Locking  the  door,  the  sheriff  turned  to 
his  son.  "  You  and  Charlie  must  watch 
that  door  all  day,  Willie,"  he  said;  "but 
you  musn't  seem  to  watch  it;  and  keep 
your  guns  handy,  and  if  that  nigger  tries 
to  get  away,  kill  him;  don't  hesitate.  I 
must  go  back  to  the  jail  and  make  out 
like  he's  there.  And  tell  Charlie  to  feed 
the  horse  and  hitch  him  to  the  buggy,  and 
let  him  stand  ready  in  the  stable,  for 
when  I'll  want  him  I'll  want  him  quick. 
Above  all  things,  don't  let  anybody  know 
that  the  nigger's  here.  But  keep  the  cel 
lar  key  in  your  pocket,  and  shoot  if  he 
tries  to  run.  If  your  uncle  Jim  comes, 
do  whatever  he  tells  you,  but  nobody  else, 
lessen  they  bring  a  note  from  me.  Now 
remember.  I'm  trusting  you,  boy;  and 
don't  you  make  any  mistake  about  killing 
the  nigger  if  he  tries  to  escape." 

"All  right,"  the  boy  answered,  cheer 
fully,  and  the  father  went  away.  He  al 
most  ran  to  the  jail,  and  entering  once 
more  by  the  back  door,  found  things  un- 


An  Incident  177 

disturbed.  Presently  his  brother  called  to 
him,  and  the  gates  and  doors  being  open 
ed,  came  in,  bringing  a  waiter  of  hot  food 
and  coffee. 

"  I  told  Jinnie  you'd  not  like  to  leave 
the  jail,"  he  said,  "  an'  she  fixed  this  up." 

"Jinnie's  mighty  good,"  the  sheriff 
answered,  "  and  sometimes  a  woman's 
mighty  handy  to  have  about — sometimes; 
but  I'd  not  leave  one  out  in  the  country 
like  Mr.  Morris  did;  no,  sir,  not  in  these 
days.  We  could  do  it  before  the  war  and 
during  the  war,  but  not  now.  The  old 
niggers  were  taught  some  decency;  but 
these  young  ones!  God  help  us,  for  I 
don't  see  any  safety  for  this  country  'cept 
Judge  Lynch.  And  I'll  tell  you  this  is 
my  first  an'  last  term  as  sheriff.  The 
work's  too  dirty." 

"  Buck  Thomas  was  a  boss  sheriff,"  his 
brother  answered;  "he  found  the  niggers 
all  right,  but  the  niggers  never  found  the 
jail,  and  the  niggers  were  'fraid  to  death 
of  him." 

"Maybe  Buck  was  right,"  the  sheriff 
said,  "and  'twas  heap  the  easiest  way; 
but  here  comes  the  town." 

The  two  men  went  to  the  window  and 
saw  a  crowd  of  people  advancing  down 
the  road,  led  by  Mr.  Morris  and  his 
friends  on  horseback. 


178  Harper's  Novelettes 

"I  b'lieve  you're  the  only  man  in  this 
town  that  '11  stand  by  me,  Jim,"  the  sher 
iff  said.  "I  swore  in  six  last  night,  and 
I  see  'em  all  in  that  crowd.  Poor  Mr. 
Morris!  iri  his  place  I'd  do  just  what  he's 
doin'.  Blest  if  yonder  ain't  Doty  Bux- 
ton  comiii'  to  help  me!  I'll  let  him  in; 
but  see  here,  Jim,  I'm  goin'  to  send  Doty 
to  telegraph  to  the  city  for  Judge  More, 
and  I  want  you  to  slip  out  the  back  way 
right  now,  and  run  to  my  house,  and  tell 
Willie  to  give  you  the  buggy  and  the 
nigger,  and  you  drive  that  nigger  into 
the  city.  Of  course  you'll  kill  him  if  he 
tries  to  escape." 

"  The  nigger  ain't  here !" 

"  I'm  no  fool,  Jim.  And  I'll  hold  this 
jail,  me  and  Doty,  as  long  as  possible,  and 
you  drive  like  hell !  You  see  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  you  really  wanted  to 
save  the  nigger,"  his  brother  remon 
strated;  "nobody  b'lieves  that." 

"  I  don't,  as  a  nigger.  But  you  go  on 
now,  and  I'll  send  Doty  with  the  tele 
gram,  and  make  time  by  talkin'  to  Mr. 
Morris.  I  don't  think  they've  found  any 
thing;  if  they  had,  they'd  have  come 
a-galloping,  and  the  devil  himself  couldn't 
have  stopped  'em.  Gosh,  but  it's  awful ! 
Who  knows  what  that  nigger's  done ! 
When  I  look  at  Mr.  Morris,  I  wish  you 


An  Incident  179 

fellers  had  overpowered  me  last  night, 
and  had  fixed  things." 

He  let  his  brother  out  at  the  back, 
then  went  round  to  the  front  gate,  where 
he  met  the  man  whom  he  called  Doty 
Buxton. 

"  Go  telegraph  Judge  More  the  facts  of 
the  case,"  he  said,  "  an'  ask  him  to  come. 
I  don't  believe  I'll  need  any  men  if  he'll 
come ;  and  besides,  he  and  Mr.  Morris  are 
friends." 

As  the  man  turned  away,  one  of  the 
horsemen  rode  up  to  the  sheriff. 

"  We  demand  that  negro,"  he  said. 

"  I  supposed  that  was  what  you'd  come 
for,  Mr.  Mitchell,"  the  sheriff  answered; 
"  but  you  know,  sir,  that  as  much  as  I'd 
like  to  oblige  you,  I'm  bound  to  protect 
the  man.  lie  swears  that  he's  never 
touched  Mrs.  Morris." 

"  Great  God,  sheriff !  how  can  you  men 
tion  the  thing  quietly?  You  know — 

"Yes,  I  know;  and  I  know  that  I'll 
never  do  the  dirty  work  of  a  sheriff  a 
day  after  my  term's  up.  But  we  haven't 
any  proof  against  this  nigger  except  that 
he  ran  away — " 

"  Isn't  that  enough  when  the  lady  can't 
be  found,  nor  a  trace  of  her  ?" 

"  I  found  the  hatchet," 

"And— !" 


180  Harper's  Novelettes 

"It  was  clean,  thank  God!" 

Mr.  Mitchell  jerked  the  reins  so  vio 
lently  that  his  horse,  tired  as  he  was, 
reared  and  plunged. 

"Mr.  Morris  declines  to  speak  with 
you,"  he  went  on,  when  the  horse  had 
quieted  down,  "  but  he's  determined  that 
the  negro  shall  not  escape,  and  the  whole 
county  '11  back  him." 

"I  know  that,"  the  sheriff  answered, 
patiently,  "and  in  his  place  I'd  do  the 
same  thing;  but  in  my  place  I  must  do 
my  official  duty.  I'll  not  let  the  nigger 
escape,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,  and  I've 
telegraphed  for  Judge  More  to  come  out 
here.  I've  telegraphed  the  whole  case. 
Surely  Mr.  Morris  '11  trust  Judge  More?" 

Mitchell  dragged  at  his  mustache. 
"  Poor  Morris  is  nearly  dead,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course ;  won't  he  go  and  eat  and 
rest  till  Judge  More  comes  ?  Every  house 
in  the  town  '11  be  open  to  him." 

"  No ;  he'll  not  wait  nor  rest ;  and  we're 
determined  to  hang  that  negro." 

"  It  '11  be  mighty  hard  to  shed  our  blood 
— friends  and  neighbors,"  remonstrated 
the  sheriff  — "  and  all  over  a  worthless 
nigger." 

"That's  your  lookout,"  Mr.  Mitchell 
answered.  "A  trial  and  a  big  funeral 
is  glory  for  a  negro,  and  the  penitentiary 


An  Incident  181 

means  nothing  to  them  but  free  board 
and  clothes.  I  tell  you,  sheriff,  lynching 
is  the  only  thing  that  affects  them." 

"You  won't  wait  even  until  I  get  an 
answer  from  Judge  More?" 

"Well,  to  please  you,  I'll  ask."  And 
Mitchell  rode  back  to  his  companions. 

The  conference  between  the  leaders  was 
longer  than  the  sheriff  had  hoped,  and 
before  he  was  again  approached  Doty 
Buxton  had  returned,  saying  that  Judge 
More's  answer  would  be  sent  to  the  jail 
just  as  soon  as  it  came. 

"You'll  stand  by  me,  Doty?"  the  sher 
iff  asked. 

"  'Cause  I  like  you,  Mr.  Partin,"  Doty 
answered,  slowly;  "not  'cause  I  want  to 
save  the  nigger.  I  b'lieve  in  my  soul  he's 
done  drowned  the  po'  lady's  body." 

"  All  right ;  you  go  inside  and  be  ready 
to  chain  the  gate  if  I  am  run  in."  Then 
he  waited  for  the  return  of  the  envoy. 

John  Morris  sat  on  his  horse  quite 
apart  even  from  his  own  friends,  and 
after  a  few  words  with  him,  Mitchell  had 
gone  to  the  group  of  horsemen  about 
whom  the  townsmen  were  gathered.  The 
sheriff  did  not  know  what  this  portended, 
but  he  waited  patiently,  leaning  against 
the  wall  of  the  jail  and  whittling  a  stick. 
He  knew  quite  well  that  all  these  men 


J82  Harper's  Novelettes 

were  friendly  to  him;  that  they  under 
stood  his  position  perfectly,  and  that  they 
expected  him  to  pretend  to  do  his  duty 
to  a  reasonable  extent,  and  so  far  their 
good-nature  would  last;  but  he  knew 
equally  well  that  in  their  eyes  the  negro 
had  put  himself  beyond  the  pale  of  the 
law;  that  they  were  determined  to  hang 
him  and  would  do  it  at  any  cost;  and 
that  the  only  mercy  which  the  culprit 
could  expect  from  this  upper  class  to 
which  Mr.  Morris  belonged  was  that  his 
death  would  be  quick  and  quiet.  He 
knew  also  that  if  they  found  out  that  he 
was  in  earnest  in  defending  the  prisoner 
he  himself  would  be  in  danger  not  only 
from  Mr.  Morris  and  his  friends,  but 
from  the  townsmen  as  well.  Of  course 
all  this  could  be  avoided  by  showing  them 
that  the  jail  was  empty;  but  to  do  this 
would  be  at  this  stage  to  insure  the  fugi 
tive's  capture  and  death.  To  save  the 
negro  he  must  hold  the  jail  as  long  as 
possible,  and  if  he  had  to  shoot,  shoot 
into  the  ground.  All  this  was  quite  clear 
to  him;  what  was  not  clear  was  what 
these  men  would  do  when  they  found  that 
he  had  saved  the  negro,  and  they  had 
stormed  an  empty  jail. 

He  was  an  old  soldier,  and  had  been  in 
many  battles ;  he  had  fought  hardest  when 


An  Incident  183 

he  knew  that  things  were. most  hopeless; 
he  had  risked  his  life  recklessly,  and 
death  had  been  as  nothing  to  him  when 
he  had  thought  that  he  would  die  for  his 
country.  But  now — now  to  risk  his  life 
for  a  negro,  for  a  worthless  creature  who 
he  thought  deserved  hanging — was  this 
his  duty  ?  Why  not  say,  "  I  have  sent 
the  negro  to  the  city"?  How  quickly 
those  fierce  horsemen  would  dash  away 
down  the  road !  Well,  why  not  ?  He  drew 
himself  up.  He  was  not  going  to  turn 
coward  at  this  late  day.  His  duty  lay 
very  plain  before  him,  and  he  would  not 
flinch.  And  he  fixed  his  eyes  once  more 
on  the  little  stick  he  was  cutting,  and 
waited. 

Presently  he  saw  a  movement  in  the 
crowd,  and  the  thought  flashed  across  him 
that  they  might  capture  him  suddenly 
while  he  stood  there  alone  and  unarmed. 
He  stepped  quickly  to  the  gate,  where 
Doty  Buxton  waited,  and  standing  in  the 
opening,  asked  the  crowd  to  stand  back, 
and  to  send  Mr.  Mitchell  to  tell  him  what 
the  decision  was.  There  was  a  moment's 
pause;  then  Mitchell  rode  forward. 

"  Mr.  Morris  says  that  Judge  More  can 
not  help  matters.  The  negro  must  die, 
and  at  once.  We  don't  want  to  hurt  you, 
and  we  don't  want  to  destroy  public 


184  Harper's  Novelettes 

property,  but  we  are  going  to  have  that 
wretch  if  we  have  to  burn  the  jail  down. 
Will  you  stop  all  this  by  delivering  the 
prisoner  to  us?" 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head.  "I  can't 
do  that,  sir.  But  one  thing  I  do  ask,  that 
you'll  give  me  warning  before  you  set  fire 
to  the  jail." 

"  If  that  '11  make  you  give  up,  we'll  set 
fire  now." 

"  I  didn't  say  it  'd  make  me  surrender, 
but  only  that  I'd  like  to  throw  a  few 
things  out  — like  Doty  Buxton,  for  in 
stance,"  smiling  a  little. 

"All  right;  when  we  stop  trying  to 
break  in,  we'll  be  making  ready  to  smoke 
you  out.  The  jail's  empty  but  for  this 
negro,  I  hear." 

"Yes,  the  jail's  empty;  but  don't  you 
think  you  oughter  give  me  a  little  time 
to  weigh  matters  ?" 

"  Is  there  any  chance  of  your  surren 
dering?" 

"  To  be  perfectly  honest,"  the  sheriff 
answered,  "  there  isn't."  Then,  seeing  the 
crowd  approaching,  he  slipped  inside  the 
heavy  gate,  and  Doty  Buxton  chained  it. 
"  Now,  Doty,"  he  said, "we'll  peep  through 
these  auger-holes  and  watch  'em;  and 
when  you  see'  em  coming  near,  you  must 
shoot  through  these  lower  holes.  Shoot 


An  Incident  185 

into  the  ground  just  in  front  of  'em.  It's 
nasty  to  have  the  dirt  jumpin'  up  right 
where  you've  got  to  walk.  I  know  how  it 
feels.  I  always  wanted  to  hold  up  both 
feet  at  once.  I  reckon  they've  gone  to 
get  a  log  to  batter  down  the  gate.  They 
can  do  it,  but  I'll  make  'em  take  as  long 
as  I  can.  We  musn't  hurt  anybody,  Doty, 
but  we  must  protect  the  State  property 
as  far  as  we're  able.  Here  they  come  I 
Keep  the  dirt  dancin',  Doty.  See  that? 
They  don't  like  it.  I  told  you  they'd 
want  to  take  up  both  feet  at  once.  When 
bullets  are  flying  round  your  head,  you 
can't  help  yourself,  but  it's  hard  to  put 
your  feet  down  right  where  the  nasty  lit 
tle  things  are  peckin'  about.  Here  they 
come  again !  Keep  it  up,  Doty.  See  that  ? 
They've  stopped  again.  They  ain't  real 
mad  with  me  yet,  the  boys  ain't;  only 
Mr.  Morris  and  his  friends  are  mad.  The 
boys  think  I'm  just  pretending  to  do  my 
duty  for  the  looks  of  it;  but  I  ain't. 
Gosh!  Now  they've  fixed  it!  With  Mr. 
Morris  at  the  front  end  of  that  log,  there's 
no  hope  of  scare.  He'd  walk  over  dyna 
mite  to  get  that  nigger.  Poor  feller! 
Here  they  come  at  a  run!  Don't  hurt 
anybody,  Doty.  Bang!  Wait;  I'll  call 
a  halt  by  knocking  on  the  gate ;  it  '11  gain 
us  a  little  more  time." 


1 86  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  came  in  answer 
to  the  sheriff's  taps. 

"  1*11  arrest  every  man  of  you  for  de 
stroying  State  property,"  the  sheriff  an 
swered. 

"  All  right ;  come  do  it  quick,"  was  the 
response.  "  We're  waitin',  but  we  won't 
wait  long." 

"  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  go  inside, 
Doty,"  the  sheriff  said;  then  to  the  at 
tacking  party,  "  If  you'll  wait  till  Judge 
More  comes,  I  promise  you  the  nigger  '11 
hang." 

For  answer  there  was  another  blow  on 
the  gate. 

"  Remember,  I've  warned  you !"  the 
sheriff  called. 

"  Hush  that  rot,"  was  the  answer,  fol 
lowed  by  a  third  blow. 

The  sheriff  and  Doty  retreated  to  the 
jail,  and  the  attack  went  on.  It  was  a 
two  -  story  building  of  wood,  but  very 
strongly  built,  and  unless  they  tried  fire 
the  sheriff  hoped  to  keep  the  besiegers  at 
bay  for  a  little  while  yet.  He  stationed 
Doty  at  one  window,  and  himself  took 
position  at  another,  each  with  loaded  pis 
tols,  which  were  only  to  be  used  as  before 
— to  make  "  the  dirt  jump." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Doty,"  the 
sheriff  said,  "  if  you  boys  had  had  any 


An  Incident  187 

sense,  you'd  have  overpowered  me  last 
night,  and  we'd  not  have  had  all  this 
(rouble." 

"  We  wanted  to,"  Doty  answered,  "  but 
you're  new  at  the  business,  an'  you  talked 
so  big  we  didn't  like  to  make  you  feel 
little." 

"  Here  they  come !"  the  sheriff  went  on, 
as  the  stout  gate  swayed  inwards.  "  One 
more  good  lick  an'  it's  down.  That's  it. 
Now  keep  the  dirt  dancin',  Doty,  but 
don't  hurt  anybody." 

Mr.  Morris  was  in  the  lead,  and  ap 
parently  did  not  see  the  "  dancin'  dirt," 
for  he  approached  the  jail  at  a  run. 

"  It's  no  use,  Doty,"  the  sheriff  said ; 
"  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait  till  they  get  in, 
for  I'm  not  going  to  shoot  anybody.  It 
may  be  wrong  to  lynch,  but  in  a  case  like 
this  it's  the  rightest  wrong  that  ever  was." 
So  the  sheriff  sat  there  thinking,  while 
Doty  watched  the  attack  from  the  win 
dow. 

According  to  his  calculations  of  time 
and  distance,  the  sheriff  thought  that  the 
prisoner  was  now  so  far  on  his  way  as  to 
be  almost  out  of  danger  by  pursuit,  and 
his  mind  was  busy  with  the  other  ques 
tion  as  to  what  would  happen  when  the 
jail  was  found  to  be  empty.  He  had  not 
heard  from  Judge  More,  but  the  answer 


1 88  Harper's  Novelettes 

could  not  have  reached  him  after  the  at 
tack  began.  He  felt  sure  that  the  judge 
would  come,  and  come  by  the  earliest 
train,  which  was  now  nearly  due. 

"  The  old  man  '11  come  if  he  can,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  and  he'll  help  me  if  he 
comes;  and  I  wish  the  train  would  hurry." 

He  felt  glad  when  he  remembered  that 
he  had  given  the  keys  of  the  cells  to  his 
brother,  for  though  he  would  try  to  save 
further  destruction  of  property  by  telling 
the  mob  that  the  jail  was  empty,  he  felt 
quite  sure  that  they  would  not  believe 
him,  and  in  default  of  keys,  would  break 
open  every  door  in  the  building;  which 
obstinacy  would  grant  him  more  time  in 
which  to  hope  for  Judge  More  and  arbi 
tration.  That  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
slip  out  once  the  besiegers  had  broken  in 
never  occurred  to  him;  his  only  thought 
was  to  stay  where  he  was  until  the  end 
came,  whatever  that  might  be.  They  were 
taking  longer  than  he  had  expected,  and 
every  moment  was  a  gain. 

Doty  Buxton  came  in  from  the  hall, 
where  he  had  gone  to  watch  operations. 
"The  do'  is  givin',"  he  said;  "what  '11 
you  do?" 

"  Nothin',"  the  sheriff  answered,  slowly. 

"  Won't  you  give  'em  the  keys  ?" 

"  I  haven't  got  'em." 


An  Incident  189 

"Gosh!"  and  Doty's  eyes  got  big  as 
saucers. 

Very  soon  the  outer  door  was  down, 
and  the  crowd  came  trooping  in,  all  save 
John  Morris,  who  stopped  in  the  hallway. 
He  seemed  to  be  unable  even  to  look  at 
the  sheriff,  and  the  sheriff  felt  the  averted 
face  more  than  he  would  have  felt  a  blow. 

"  We  want  the  keys,"  Mitchell  said. 

The  sheriff,  who  had  risen,  stood  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  eyes, 
filled  with  sympathy,  fastened  on  Mr. 
Morris,  standing  looking  blankly  down 
the  empty  hall. 

"  I  haven't  got  the  keys,  Mr.  Mitchell," 
he  answered. 

"  Oh,  come  off!"  cried  one  of  the  towns 
men.  "  Rocky !"  cried  another.  "  Yo* 
granny's  hat!"  came  from  a  third;  while 
Doty  Buxton  said,  gravely,  "  Give  up, 
Partin ;  we've  humored  this  duty  business 
long  enough." 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you 
won't  give  up  the  keys?"  Mitchell  de 
manded,  scornfully. 

"  No,"  the  sheriff  retorted,  a  little  hot 
ly?  "you  don't  understand  anything  of 
the  kind.  I  said  that  I  didn't  have  the 
keys;  and  further,"  he  added,  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  "  I  say  that  this  jail  is 
empty." 


190  Harper's  Novelettes 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  while 
the  men  looked  at  one  another  incredu 
lously;  then  the  jeering  began  again. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  break 
open  the  cells,"  Morris  said,  sharply,  but 
without  turning  his  head.  "We  trusted 
the  sheriff  last  night,  and  he  outwitted 
us ;  we  must  not  trust  him  again." 

The  sheriff's  eyes  flashed,  and  the  blood 
sprang  to  his  face.  The  crowd  stood 
eagerly  silent;  but  after  a  second  the 
sheriff  answered,  quietly, 

"  You  may  say  what  you  please  to  me, 
Mr.  Morris,  and  I'll  not  resent  it  under 
these  circumstances,  but  I'll  swear  the 
jail's  empty." 

For  answer  Morris  drove  an  axe  furi 
ously  against  the  nearest  cell  door,  and 
the  crowd  followed  suit.  There  were  not 
many  cells,  and  as  he  looked  from  a  win 
dow  the  sheriff  counted  the  doors  as  they 
fell  in,  and  listened  for  the  whistle  of  the 
train  that  he  hoped  would  bring  Judge 
More.  The  doors  were  going  down  rap 
idly,  and  as  each  yielded  the  sheriff  could 
hear  cries  and  demonstrations.  What 
would  they  do  when  the  last  one  fell  ? 

Presently  Doty  Buxton,  who  had  been, 
making  observations,  came  in,  pale  and 
excited.  "You'd  better  git  yo'  pistols," 
he  said,  "  an'  I'll  git  mine,  for  they're 


An  Incident  191 

gittin'  madder  an'  madder  every  time  he 
ain't  there." 

"  Well,"  the  sheriff  answered,  "  I  want 
you  to  witness  that  I  ain't  armed.  My 
pistols  are  over  there  on  the  table,  unload 
ed.  Thank  the  good  Lord!"  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly;  "there's  the  train,  an'  Judge 
More!  I  hope  he'll  come  right  along." 

"An'  there  goes  the  last  do'!"  said 
Doty,  as,  after  a  crash  and  a  momentary 
silence,  oaths  and  ejaculations  filled  the 
air.  He  drew  near  the  sheriff,  but  the 
sheriff  moved  away. 

"Stand  back,"  he  said;  "you've  got 
little  children." 

In  an  instant  the  crowd  rushed  in, 
headed  by  Morris,  whose  burning  eyes 
seemed  to  be  starting  from  his  drawn 
white  face.  Like  a  flash  Doty  sprang 
forward  and  wrenched  an  axe  from  the 
infuriated  man,  crying  out,  "  Partin 
ain't  armed !" 

For  answer  a  blow  from  Morris's  fist 
dropped  the  sheriff  like  a  dead  man.  A 
sudden  silence  fell,  and  Morris,  standing 
over  his  fallen  foe,  looked  about  him  as 
if  dazed.  For  an  instant  he  stood  so, 
then  with  a  violent  movement  he  pushed 
back  the  crowding  men,  and  lifting  the 
sheriff,  dragged  him  toward  the  open 
window. 


192  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  Give  him  air,"  he  ordered,  "  and  go 
for  the  doctor,  and  for  cold  water!"  He 
laid  Partin  flat  and  dragged  open  his  col 
lar.  "  He's  not  dead — see  there ;  I  struck 
him  on  the  temple;  under  the  ear  would 
have  killed  him,  but  not  this,  not  this! 
Give  me  that  water,  and  plenty  of  it, 
and  move  back.  He's  not  dead,  no; 
and  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him;  but  he 
has  worked  against  me  all  night,  and 
I  didn't  think  a  white  man  would  do 
it." 

"  He's  comin'  round,  Mr.  Morris,"  said 
Doty,  who  knelt  on  the  other  side  of  the 
sheriff;  "an'  he  didn't  bear  no  malice 
against  you — don't  fret;  but  it's  a  good 
thing  I  jerked  that  axe  outer  yo'  hand! 
See,  he's  ketchin'  his  breath;  it's  all 
right,"  as  Partin  opened  his  eyes  slowly 
and  looked  about  him. 

A  sound  like  a  sigh  came  from  the 
crowd,  then  a  voice  said,  "Here  comes 
Judge  More." 

Morris  was  still  holding  his  wet  hand 
kerchief  on  the  sheriff's  head  when  the 
old  judge  came  in. 

"My  dear  boy!"  ho  said,  laying  his 
hand  on  John  Morris's  shoulder.  But 
Morris  shook  his  head. 

"Let's  talk  business,  Judge  More,"  lie 
said,  "and  let's  get  Partin  into  a  chair 


An  Incident  193 

where  he  can  rest;  I've  just  knocked  him 
over." 

Then  Morris  left  the  room,  and  Mitch 
ell  with  him,  going  to  the  far  side  of  the 
jail-yard,  where  they  walked  up  and  down 
in  silence.  It  was  not  long  before  Judge 
More  and  the  sheriff  joined  them. 

"  The  evidence  was  too  slight  for  lynch 
ing,"  the  judge  said,  looking  straight  into 
John  Morris's  eyes. 

"  Great  God !"  Morris  cried,  and  struck 
his  hands  together. 

"  What  more  do  you  want  ?"  Mitchell 
demanded,  angrily.  "  His  wife  has  dis 
appeared,  and  the  negro  ran  away." 

"  True,  and  I'll  see  to  the  case  myself ; 
but  I'm  glad  that  you  did  not  hang  the 
negro." 

A  boy  came  up  with  a  telegram. 

"  From  Jim,  I  reckon,"  the  sheriff 
said,  taking  it.  "  No ;  it's  for  you,  Mr. 
Morris." 

It  was  torn  open  hastily;  then  Morris 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  blank, 
scared  face,  while  the  paper  fluttered  from 
his  hold. 

Mitchell  caught  it,  and  read  aloud 
slowly,  as  if  he  did  not  believe  his  eyes : 

"'Am  safe.  Will  be  out  on  the  ten- 
o'clock  train.  ELEANOR/  ** 

13         S.L. 


194  Harper's  Novelettes 

Morris  stood  there,  shaking,  and  sob 
bing  hard,  dry  sobs. 

"It  '11  kill  him!"  the  sheriff  said. 
"  Quick,  some  whiskey !" 

A  flask  was  forced  between  the  blue, 
trembling  lips. 

"Drink,  old  fellow,"  and  Mitchell  put 
his  arm  about  Morris's  shoulders.  "It's 
all  right  now,  thank  God  I" 

Morris  was  leaning  against  his  friend, 
sobbing  like  a  woman.  The  sneriff  drew 
his  coat-sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"What  made  the  nigger  run  away?" 
/ie  said,  slowly — adding,  as  if  to  himself, 
"  God  help  us !" 

A  vehicle  was  borrowed,  and  the  judge 
and  the  sheriff  drove  with  John  Morris 
over  to  the  station  to  meet  the  ten-o'clock 
train.  The  sheriff  and  the  judge  remain 
ed  in  the  little  carriage,  and  the  station 
agent  did  his  best  to  leave  the  whole  plat 
form  to  John  Morris.  As  the  moments 
went  by  the  look  of  anxious  agony  grew 
deeper  on  the  face  of  the  waiting  man. 
The  sheriff's  ominous  words,  falling  like 
a  pall  over  the  first  flash  of  his  happiness, 
had  filled  his  mind  with  wordless  terrors. 
He  could  scarcely  breathe  or  move,  and 
could  not  speak  when  his  wife  stepped  off 
and  put  her  hands  in  his.  She  looked  up, 


An  Incident  195 

and  without  a  query,  without  a  word  of 
explanation,  answered  the  anguished  ques 
tioning  of  his  eyes,  whispering, 

"  He  did  not  touch  me." 

Morris  staggered  a  little,  then  drawing 
her  hand  through  his  arm,  he  led  her  to 
the  carriage.  She  shrank  back  when  she 
saw  the  judge  and  the  sheriff  on  the  front 
seat ;  but  Morris  saying,  "  They  must  hear 
your  story,  dear,"  she  stepped  in. 

"  We  are  very  thankful  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
Morris,"  the  judge  said,  without  turn 
ing  his  head,  when  the  sheriff  had  touch 
ed  up  the  horse  and  they  moved  away; 
"  and  if  you  feel  able  to  tell  us  how  it  all 
happened,  it  '11  save  time  and  ease  your 
mind.  This  is  Mr.  Partin,  the  sheriff." 

Mrs.  Morris  looked  at  the  backs  of  the 
men  in  front  of  her;  at  their  heads  that 
were  so  studiously  held  in  position  that 
they  could  not  even  have  glanced  at  each 
other;  then  up  at  her  husband,  appeal- 
ingly. 

"  Tell  it,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  hers  that  were  wrung  together  in 
her  lap.  "You  sent  Aggie  to  catch  the 
chickens,  and  the  dog  went  with  her?" 

"  Yes,"  fixing  her  eyes  on  his ;  "  and  I 
sent " — she  stopped  with  a  shiver,  and  her 
husband  said,  "Abram" — "to  cut  some 
bushes  to  make  a  broom,"  she  went  on. 


196  Harper's  Novelettes 

"  I  had  been  for  a  walk  to  the  old  house, 
and  as  I  came  back  I  laid  my  gloves  and 
a  bit  of  vine  on  the  steps,  intending  to 
return  at  once;  but  I  wished  to  see  if  the 
boat  was  safe,  for  the  water  was  rising 
so  rapidly."  She  paused,  as  if  to  catch 
her  breath,  then,  with  her  eyes  still  fixed 
on  her  husband,  she  went  on,  "  I  did  not 
think  that  it  was  safe,  and  I  untied  the 
rope  and  picked  up  the  paddle  that  was 
lying  on  the  dam,  intending  to  drag  the 
boat  farther  up  and  tie  it  to  a  tree."  She 
stopped  again.  Her  husband  put  his  arm 
about  her. 

"And  then?"  he  said. 

"And  then — something,  I  don't  know 
what ;  not  a  sound,  but  something — some 
thing  made  me  turn,  and  I  saw  him — 
saw  him  coming — saw  him  stealing  up 
behind  me — with  the  hatchet  in  his  hand, 
and  a  look — a  look  " — closing  her  eyes  as 
if  in  horror — "  such  an  awful,  awful  look ! 
And  everybody  gone.  Oh,  John!"  she 
gasped,  and  clinging  to  her  husband,  she 
broke  into  hysterical  sobs,  while  the  judge 
gripped  his  walking-stick  and  cleared  his 
throat,  and  the  sheriff  swore  fiercely  un 
der  his  breath. 

"  I  was  paralyzed,"  she  went  on,  re 
covering  herself,  "  and  when  he  saw  me 
looking  he  stopped,  The  next  moment 


An  Incident  197 

he  threw  the  hatchet  at  me,  and  began  to 
run  toward  me.  The  hatchet  struck  my 
foot,  and  the  blow  roused  me,  and  I  sprang 
into  the  boat.  There  were  no  trees  just 
there,  and  jumping  in,  I  pushed  the  boat 
off  into  the  deep  water.  He  picked  up  the 
hatchet  and  shook  it  at  me,  but  the  water 
was  too  deep  for  him  to  reach  me,  and 
he  ran  back  along  the  dam  and  turned 
toward  the  railroad  embankment.  I  was 
so  terrified  I  could  scarcely  breathe;  I 
pushed  frantically  in  and  out  between  the 
trees,  farther  and  farther  into  the  swamp. 
I  was  afraid  that  he  would  go  round  to 
the  bridge  and  come  down  the  bank  to 
where  the  outlet  from  the  swamp  is  and 
catch  me  there,  but  in  a  little  while  I  saw 
where  the  rising  water  had  broken  the 
dam,  and  the  current  was  rushing  through 
and  out  to  the  river.  The  current  caught 
the  boat  and  swept  it  through  the  break. 
Oh,  I  was  so  glad !  I'm  so  afraid  of  wa 
ter,  but  not  then.  I  used  the  paddle  as  a 
rudder,  and  to  push  floating  timber  away. 
My  foot  was  hurting  me,  and  I  looked  at 
last  and  saw  that  it  was  cut." 

A  groan  came  from  the  judge,  and  the 
sheriff's  head  drooped. 

"•All  day  I  drifted,  and  all  night.  I 
was  so  thirsty,  and  I  grew  so  weak.  At 
daylight  this  morning  I  found  myself  in 


198  Harper's  Novelettes 

a  wide  sheet  of  water,  with  marshes  all 
round,  and  I  saw  a  steamboat  coming. 
I  tied  my  handkerchief  to  the  paddle  and 
waved  it,  and  they  picked  me  up.  And, 
John,  I  did  not  tell  them  anything  except 
that  the  freshet  had  swept  me  away. 
They  were  kind  to  me,  and  a  friendly 
woman  bound  up  my  foot.  We  got  to 
town  this  morning  early,  and  the  captain 
lent  me  five  dollars,  John — Captain  Mea- 
kin — so  I  telegraphed  you,  and  took  a  car 
riage  to  the  station  and  came  out.  Have 
— have  you  caught  him  ?  And,  oh — but  I 
am  afraid — afraid !"  And  again  she  broke 
into  hysterical  sobs. 

She  asked  no  explanation.  The  negro's 
guilt  was  so  burned  in  on  her  mind,  that 
she  was  sure  that  all  knew  it  as  well  as 
she. 

"  You  need  have  no  further  fears,"  her 
husband  comforted.  And  the  judge  shook 
his  head,  and  the  sheriff  swore  again. 

A  white-haired  woman  in  rusty  black 
stood  talking  to  a  negro  convict.  It  was 
in  a  stockade  prison  camp  in  the  hill 
country.  She  had  been  a  slave-owner 
once,  long  ago,  and  now  for  her  mission- 
work  taught  on  Sundays  in  the  stock 
ade,  trying  to  better  the  negroes  penned 
there. 


An  Incident  199 

This  was  a  new  prisoner,  and  she  was 
asking  him  of  himself. 

"  How  long  are  you  in  for  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Fuhrebber,  ma'm ;  fuh  des  es  long  es 
I  lib,"  the  negro  answered,  looking  down 
to  where  he  was  making  marks  on  the 
ground  with  his  toes. 

"And  how  did  you  get  such  a  dread 
ful  sentence  ?" 

"I  ent  do  much,  ma'm;  I  des  scare  a 
white  lady." 

A  wave  of  revulsion  swept  over  the 
teacher,  and  involuntarily  she  stepped 
back.  The  negro  looked  up  and  grinned. 

"  De  hatchet  des  cut  'e  foot  a  little  bit ; 
but  I  trow  de  hatchet.  I  ent  tech  um ;  no, 
ma'm.  Den  atterwards  'e  baby  daid;  den 
dey  say  I  muss  stay  yer  fuhrebber.  I  ent 
sorry,  'kase  I  know  say  I  hab  to  wuck  any- 
wheys  I  is;  if  I  stay  yer,  if  I  go  'way,  I 
hab  to  wuck.  En  I  know  say  if  I  git  outer 
dis  place  Mr.  Morris  '11  kill  me  sho — des 
sho.  So  I  like  fuh  stay  yer  berry  well." 

And  the  teacher  went  away,  wondering 
if  her  work — if  any  work — would  avail; 
and  what  answer  the  future  would  have 
for  this  awful  problem. 


A  Snipe-Hunt 

A  Story  of  Jim-Ned  Creek 

BY  M.   E.   M.   DAVIS 

"    I  AIN'T    sayin'    nothin'    ag'inst    the 

women     o'     Jim  -  Ned     Creek     ez 

women"    said    Mr.    Pinson;    "  an' 

what's  more,  I'll  spit  on  my  hands  an'  lay 

out  any  man  ez  '11  dassen  to  sass  'em. 

But  ez  wives  the  women  o'  Jim-Ned  air 

the  outbeatenes'  critters  in  creation!" 

These  remarks,  uttered  in  an  oracular 
tone,  were  received  with  grave  approba 
tion  by  the  half  a  dozen  idlers  gathered 
about  the  mesquite  fire  in  Bishop's  store. 
Old  Bishop  himself,  sorting  over  some 
trace-chains  behind  the  counter,  nodded 
grimly,  and  then  smiled,  his  wintry  face 
grown  suddenly  tender. 

"  You've  shore  struck  it,  Newt,"  assent 
ed  Joe  Trimble.  "  You  never  kin  tell  how 
ary  one  of  'em  '11  ack  under  any  succum- 


stances," 


Jack   Carter   and    Sid   Northcutt,   the 


A  Snipe-Hunt  201 

only  bachelors  present,  grinned  and  wink 
ed  slyly  at  each  other. 

"  You  boys  neenter  to  be  so  brash," 
drawled  Mr.  Pinson's  son-in-law,  Sam 
Leggett,  from  his  perch  on  a  barrel  of 
pecans;  "jest  you  wait  ontell  Minty  Cul- 
lum  an'  Loo  Slater  gits  a  tight  holt! 
Them  gals  is  ez  meek  ez  lambs — now. 
But  so  was  Mis'  Pinson  an'  Mis'  Trimble 
in  their  day  an'  time,  I  reckon.  I  know 
Becky  Leggett  was." 

"  The  studdies'-goin'  woman  on  Jim- 
Ned,"  continued  Mr.  Pinson,  ignoring 
these  interruptions,  "  is  Mis'  Cullum.  An' 
yit,  Tobe  Cullum  ain't  no  safeter  than 
anybody  else — considerin'  of  Sissy  Cul 
lum  ez  a  wife !" 

Mr.  Trimble  opened  his  lips  to  speak, 
but  shut  them  again  hastily,  looking  a 
little  scared,  and  an  awkward  silence  fell 
on  the  group. 

For  the  shadow  of  Mrs.  Cullum  herself 
had  advanced  through  the  wide  door-way, 
and  lay  athwart  the  puncheon  floor;  and 
that  lady,  a  large,  comfortable  -  looking, 
middle-aged  person,  with  a  motherly  face 
and  a  kindly  smile,  after  a  momentary 
survey  of  the  scene  before  her,  walked 
briskly  in.  She  shook  hands  across  the 
counter  with  the  storekeeper,  and  passed 
the  time  of  day  all  around. 


202  Harper's  Novelettes 

But  Hines,  the  new  clerk,  shuffled  for 
ward  eagerly  to  wait  on  her.  Bud  was  a 
sallow-faced,  thin-chested,  gawky  youth 
from  the  States,  who  had  wandered  into 
these  parts  in  search  of  health  and  em 
ployment.  He  was  not  yet  used  to  the 
somewhat  drastic  ways  of  Jim-Ned,  and 
there  was  a  homesick  look  in  his  watery 
blue  eyes;  he  smiled  bashfully  at  her 
while  he  measured  off  calico  and  weighed 
sugar,  and  he  followed  her  out  to  the 
horse-block  when  she  had  concluded  her 
lengthy  spell  of  shopping. 

"You  better  put  on  a  thicker  coat, 
Bud,"  she  said,  pushing  back  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  looking  down  at  him  from 
the  saddle  before  she  moved  off.  "  You've 
got  a  rackety  cough.  I  reckon  I'll  have 
to  make  you  some  mullein  surrup." 

"  Oh,  Mis'  Cullum,  don't  trouble  your 
self  about  me,"  Mr.  Hines  cried,  grate 
fully,  a  lump  rising  in  his  throat  as  he 
watched  her  ride  away. 

The  loungers  in  the  store  had  strolled 
out  on  the  porch.  "  Mis'  Cullum  cert'ii'y 
is  a  sister  in  Zion,"  remarked  Mr.  Trim 
ble,  gazing  admiringly  at  her  retreating 
figure. 

"M-m-m — y-e-e-s,"  admitted  Mr.  Pin- 
son.  "But,"  he  added,  darkly,  after  a 
meditative  pause,  "  Sissy  Cullum  is  a 


A  Snipe-Hunt  203 

wife,  an'  the  women  o'  Jim-Ned,  ez  wives, 
air  liable  to  conniptions." 

Mrs.  Cull  urn  jogged  slowly  along  the 
brown,  wheel-rifted  road  which  followed 
the  windings  of  the  creek.  It  was  late  in 
November.  A  brisk  little  norther  was 
blowing,  and  the  nuts  dropping  from  the 
pecan  -  trees  in  the  hollows  filled  the 
dusky  stillness  with  a  continuous  rattling 
sound.  There  was  a  sprinkling  of  belated 
cotton-bolls  on  the  stubbly  fields  to  the 
right  of  the  road ;  a  few  ragged  sunflowers 
were  still  abloom  in  the  fence  corners, 
where  the  pokeberries  were  red-ripe  on 
their  tall  stalks. 

"  I  must  lay  in  some  poke-root  for 
Tobe's  knee-j'ints,"  mused  Mrs.  Cullum, 
as  she  turned  into  the  lane  which  led  to 
her  own  door-yard.  "Pore  Tobe!  them 
j'ints  o'  his'n  is  mighty  oncertain.  Why, 
Tobe!"  she  exclaimed,  aloud,  as  her  nag 
stopped  and  neighed  a  friendly  greeting 
to  the  object  of  her  own  solicitude,  "where 
air  you  bound  for?" 

Mr.  Cullum  laid  an  arm  across  the 
horse's  neck.  He  was  a  big,  loose-jointed 
man,  with  iron-gray  hair,  square  jaws,  and 
keen,  steady,  dark  eyes.  "  Well,  ma,"  he 
said,  with  a  touch  of  reluctance  in  his 
dragging  tones,  "there's  a  lodge  meetin' 
at  Ebenezer  Church  to-night,  an'  I  got 


204  Harper's  Novelettes 

Mintry  to  give  me  my  supper  early,  so's 
I  could  go.    I — 

"All  right,  Tobe,"  interrupted  his 
wife,  cheerfully ;  "  a  passel  of  men  pran- 
cin'  around  with  a  goat  oncet  a  month 
ain't  much  harm,  I  reckon.  You  go  'long, 
honey;  I'll  set  up  for  you." 

"  Sissy  is  that  soft  an'  innercent  an' 
mild,"  muttered  Mr.  Cullum,  striding 
away  in  the  gathering  twilight,  "that  a 
suckin'  baby  could  wrop  her  aroun'  its 
finger — much  lessen  me!" 

About  ten  o'clock  the  same  night  Gran 
ny  Carnes,  peeping  through  a  chink  in 
the  wall  beside  her  bed,  saw  a  squad  of 
men  hurrying  afoot  down  the  road  from 
the  direction  of  Ebenezer  Church.  "  Them 
boys  is  up  to  some  devilmint,  Uncle 
Dick,"  she  remarked,  placidly,  to  her 
rheumatic  old  husband. 

Uncle  Dick  laughed,  a  soft,  toothless 
laugh.  "  I  ain't  begrudgin'  'em  the  fun," 
he  sighed,  turning  on  his  pillow,  "but  I 
wisht  to  the  Lord  I  was  along!" 

The  "  boys "  crossed  the  creek  below 
Bishop's  and  entered  the  shinn-oak  prai 
rie  on  the  farther  side. 

"Nance  ast  mighty  particular  about 
the  lodge  meetin',"  observed  Newt  Pin- 
son  to  Mr.  Cullum,  who  headed  the  noc 
turnal  expedition;  "she  know'd  it  wa'n't 


A  Snipe-Hunt  205 

the  regular  night,  an'  she  suspicioned 
sompn,  Nance  did." 

"  Sissy  didn't,"  laughed  Tobe,  compla 
cently.  "  Sissy  is  that  soft  an'  innercent 
an'  mild  that  a  suckin'  baby  could  wrop 
her  aroun'  its  finger — much  lessen  me!" 

Bud  Hines,  in  the  rear  with  the  others, 
was  in  a  quiver  of  excitement.  lie  stum 
bled  along,  shifting  Sid  Northcutt's  rifle 
from  one  shoulder  to  the  other,  and  lis 
tening  open-mouthed  to  Jack  Carter's  di 
rections.  "  You  know,  Bud,"  said  that 
young  gentleman,  gravely,  "  it  ain't  ev 
ery  man  that  gets  a  chance  to  go  on  a 
snipe-hunt.  And  if  you've  got  any  grit — 

"  I've  got  plenty  of  it,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Hines,  vaingloriously.  He  was,  indeed, 
inwardly — and  outwardly — bursting  with 
pride.  "  I  thought  they  tuk  me  for  a 
plumb  fool,"  he  kept  saying  over  and  over 
to  himself.  "  They  ain't  never  noticed 
me  before  'cepn  to  make  fun  of  me;  an' 
all  at  oncet  Mr.  Tobe  Cullum  an'  Mr.  Newt 
Pinson  ups  an'  asts  me  to  go  on  a  snipe- 
hunt,  an'  even  p'oposes  to  give  me  the  best 
place  in  it.  An'  I've  got  Mr.  Sid's  rifle, 
an'  Mr.  Jack  is  tellin'  of  me  how !  Lord, 
I  wouldn't  of  believed  it  ef  I  wa'n't  right 
here!  Won't  ma  be  proud  when  I  write 
her  about  it !" 

"You've  got  to  whistle  all  the  time," 


206  Harper's  Novelettes 

Jack  continued,  breaking  in  upon  these 
blissful  reflections ;  "  if  you  don't,  they 
won't  come." 

"  Oh,  I'll  whistle,"  declared  Bud,  jaunt 
ily. 

Sam  Leggett's  snigger  was  dexterously 
turned  into  a  cough  by  a  punch  in  his 
ribs  from  Mr.  Trimble's  elbow,  and  they 
trudged  on  in  silence  until  they  reached 
Buck  Snort  Gully,  a  deep  ravine  running 
from  the  prairie  into  a  stretch  of  heavy 
timber  beyond,  known  as  The  Rough. 

Here  they  stopped,  and  Sid  Northcutt 
produced  a  coarse  bag,  whose  mouth  was 
held  open  by  a  barrel  hoop,  and  a  tallow 
candle,  which  he  lighted  and  handed  to 
the  elate  hunter.  "  Now,  Bud,"  Mr.  Cul- 
lum  said,  when  the  bag  was  set  on  the 
edge  of  the  gully,  with  its  mouth  towards 
the  prairie,  "you  jest  scrooch  down  be 
hind  this  here  sack  an'  hold  the  candle. 
You  kin  lay  the  rifle  back  of  you,  in  case 
a  wild-cat  or  a  cougar  prowls  up.  An' 
you  whistle  jest  as  hard  an'  as  continual 
as  you  can,  whilse  the  balance  of  us  beats 
aroun'  an'  drives  in  the  snipe.  They'll 
run  fer  the  candle  ever'  time.  An'  the 
minit  that  sack  is  full  of  snipe,  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  pull  out  the  prop,  an.' 
they're  yourn." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Tobe,"  responded  Bud, 


A  Snipe-Hunt  207 

squatting  down  and  clutching  the  candle, 
his  face  radiant  with  expectation. 

The  crowd  scattered,  and  for  a  few 
moments  made  a  noisy  pretence  of  beat 
ing  the  shimi-oak  thickets  for  imaginary 
snipe. 

"Keep  a-whisslin',  Bud!"  Mr.  Cullum 
shouted,  from  the  far  edge  of  the  prairie. 

A  prolonged  whistle,  with  trills  and 
flourishes,  was  the  response;  and  the  con 
spirators,  bursting  with  restrained  laugh 
ter,  plunged  into  the  ford  and  separated, 
making  each  for  his  own  fireside. 

Mrs.  Cullum  was  nodding  over  the 
hearth-stone  when  her  husband  came  in. 
The  six  girls,  from  Minty — Jack  Carter's 
buxom,  sweetheart  —  to  Little  Sis,  the 
baby,  were  long  abed.  The  hands  of  the 
wooden  clock  on  the  high  mantel-shelf 
pointed  to  half -past  twelve.  "  Well,  pa," 
Sissy  said,  good-humoredly,  reaching  out 
for  the  shovel  and  beginning  to  cover  up 
the  fire,  "  you've  cavorted  pretty  late  this 
time!  What's  the  matter?"  she  added, 
suspiciously;  "you  ack  like  you've  been 
drinkin' !" 

For  Tobe  was  rolling  about  the  room 
in  an  ecstasy  of  uproarious  mirth. 

"  I  'ain't  teched  nary  drop,  Sissy,"  Mr. 
Cullum  returned,  "  but  ever'  time  I  think 
about  that  fool  Bud  Ilines  a-settin'  out 


208  Harper's  Novelettes 

yander  at  Buck  Snort,  holdin'  of  a  can 
dle,  and  whisslin'  fer  snipe  to  run  into 
that  coffee-sack,  I — oh  Lord!" 

He  stopped  to  slap  his  thighs  and  roar 
again.  Finally,  wiping  the  tears  of  en 
joyment  from  his  eyes,  he  related  the 
story  of  the  night's  adventure. 

"  Air  you  tellin'  me,  Tobe  Cullum,"  his 
wife  said,  when  she  had  heard  him  to  the 
end — "air  you  p'intedly  tellin'  me  that 
you've  took  Bud  Hines  snipin?  An* 
that  you've  left  that  sickly,  consumpted 
young  man  a-settin'  out  there  by  hisse'f 
to  catch  his  death  of  cold;  or  maybe  git 
his  blood  sucked  out  by  a  catamount  I" 

"Shucks,  Sissy!"  replied  Tobe;  "noth- 
in'  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  him.  He's  sech  a 
derned  fool  that  a  catamount  wouldn't 
tech  him  with  a  ten-foot  pole !  An'  him 
a-whisslin'  fer  them  snipe — oh  Lord!" 

"Tobe  Cullum,"  said  Mrs.  Cullum, 
sternly,  "  you  go  saddle  Buster  this  minit 
and  ride  out  to  Buck  Snort  after  Bud 
Hines." 

"  Why,  honey — "  remonstrated  Tobe. 

"Don't  you  honey  me,"  she  interrupt 
ed,  wrathf  ully.  "  You  saddle  that  horse 
this  minit  an'  fetch  that  consumpted  boy 
home." 

Tobe  ceased  to  laugh.  His  big  jaws 
set  themselves  suddenly  square.  "I'll 


A  Snipe-Hunt  209 

do  no  sech  fool  thing,"  he  declared,  dog 
gedly,  "an'  have  the  len'th  an'  brea'th 
o'  Jim-Ned,  makin'  fun  o'  me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  his  wife,  with  equal 
determination,  "  ef  you  don't  go,  I  will. 
But  I  give  you  fair  warnin',  Tobe  Cul- 
lum,  that  ef  you  don't  go,  I'll  never  speak 
to  you  again  whilse  my  head  is  hot." 

Tobe  snorted  incredulously;  but  he 
sneaked  out  to  the  stable  after  her,  and 
when  she  had  saddled  and  mounted 
Buster,  he  followed  her  on  foot,  running 
noiselessly  some  distance  behind  her, 
keeping  her  well  in  sight,  and  dodging 
into  the  deeper  shadows  when  she  chanced 
to  look  around. 

"I  didn't  know  Sissy  had  so  much 
spunk,"  he  muttered,  panting  in  her  wake 
at  last  across  the  shinn-oak  prairie. 
"Lord,  how  blazin'  mad  she  is!  But 
shucks !  she'll  git  over  it  by  mornin'." 

Mr.  Hines  was  shivering  with  cold. 
He  still  whistled  mechanically,  but  the 
hand  that  held  the  sputtering  candle 
shook  to  the  trip-hammer  thumping  of 
his  heart.  "  The  balance  of  'em  must  of 
got  lost,"  he  thought,  listening  to  the 
lonesome  howl  of  the  wind  across  the 
prairie.  "It's  too  c-cold  for  snipe,  I 
reckon.  I  wisht  I'd  staid  at  home.  I 
c-can't  w-whistle  any  longer,"  he  whim- 

14       S.  L. 


210  Harper's  Novelettes 

pered  aloud,  dropping  the  candle-end,  the 
lask  spark  of  courage  oozing  out  of  his 
nerveless  fingers.  He  stood  up,  straining 
his  eyes  down  the  black  gully  and  across 
the  dreary  waste  around  him.  "Mr. 
T-o-o-be!"  he  called,  feebly,  and  the 
wavering  echoes  of  his  voice  came  back 
to  him  mingled  with  an  ominous  sound. 
"  Oh,  Lordy !  what  is  that  ?"  he  stammer 
ed.  He  sank  to  the  ground,  grabbing 
wildly  for  his  gun.  "It's  a  cougar!  I 
hear  him  trompin'  up  from  the  creek! 
It's  a  c-cougar!  He's  c-comin'  closter! 
Oh,  Lordy!" 

"Hello,  Bud,"  called  Mrs.  Cullum, 
cheerily.  She  slipped  from  the  saddle  as 
she  spoke  and  caught  the  half-fainting 
snipe-hunter  in  her  motherly  arms. 

"Ain't  you  'shamed  of  yourse'f  to  let 
a  passel  o'  no-'count  men  fool  you  this-a- 
way?"  she  demanded,  sternly,  when  he 
had  somewhat  recovered  himself.  "  Get 
up  behind  me.  I'm  goin'  to  take  you  to 
Mis'  Bishop's,  where  you  belong.  No, 
don't  you  dassen  to  tech  any  o'  that 
trash!" 

Mr.  Hines,  feeling  very  humble  and 
abashed,  climbed  up  behind  her,  and  they 
rode  away,  leaving  the  snipe  -  hunting 
gear,  including  Sid  Northcutt's  valuable 
rifle,  on  the  edge  of  the  gully. 


A  Snipe-Hunt  211 

She  left  him  at  Bishop's,  charging  him 
to  swallow  before  going  to  bed  a  "  dost " 
of  the  home-brewed  chill  medicine  from 
a  squat  bottle  she  handed  him. 

"  He  cert'n'y  is  weaker'n  stump-wa 
ter,"  she  murmured,  as  she  turned  her 
horse's  head;  "but  he's  sickly  an'  con- 
fiumpted,  an'  he's  jest  about  the  age  my 
Bud  would  of  been  if  he'd  lived." 

And  thinking  of  her  first-born  and 
only  son,  who  died  in  babyhood,  she  rode 
homeward  in  the  dim  chill  starlight. 
Tobe,  spent  and  foot-sore,  followed  wari 
ly,  carrying  the  abandoned  rifle. 


II 


Consternation  reigned  the  "len'th  an' 
brea'th"  of  Jim-Ned.  Mrs.  Cullum— 
placid  and  easy-going  Mrs.  Tobe — under 
the  same  roof  with  him,  actually  had  not 
spoken  to  her  lawful  and  wedded  hus 
band  since  the  snipe-hunt  ten  days  ago 
come  Monday! 

"It's  plumb  scan'lous!"  Mrs.  Pinson 
exclaimed,  at  her  daughter's  quilting. 
"  I  never  would  of  thought  sech  a  thing 
of  Sissy — never!" 

"  As  ef  the  boys  of  Jim-Ned  couldn't 
have  a  little  innercent  fun  without  Mis' 


212  Harper's  Novelettes 

Cullum  settin'  in  jeclgment  on  'em!" 
sniffed  Mrs.  Leggett. 

"  Shet  up,  Becky  Leggett,"  said  her 
mother,  severely.  "  By  time  you've  put 
up  with  a  man's  capers  fer  twenty- 
five  years,  like  Sissy  Cullum  have,  you'll 
have  the  right  to  talk,  an'  not  be 
fore." 

"  They  say  Tobe  is  wellnigh  out'n  his 
mind,"  remarked  Mrs.  Trimble.  "  Ez  fer 
that  soft-headed  Bud  Hines,  he  have  fair 
fattened  on  that  snipe-hunt.  He's  gittin' 
ez  sassy  an'  mischeevous  ez  Jack  Carter 
hisse'f." 

This  last  statement  was  literally  true. 
The  victim  of  Tobe  Cullum's  disastrous 
practical  joke  had  become  on  a  sudden 
case-hardened,  as  it  were.  The  consump 
tive  pallor  had  miraculously  disappeared 
from  his  cheeks  and  the  homesick  look 
from  his  eyes.  He  bore  the  merciless 
chaffing  at  Bishop's  with  devil-may-care 
good-nature,  and  he  besought  Mrs.  Cul 
lum,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to 
"  let  up  on  Mr.  Tobe." 

"I  was  sech  a  dern  fool,  Mis'  Cul 
lum,"  he  candidly  confessed,  "that  I 
don't  blame  Mr.  Tobe  fer  puttin'  up  a 
job  on  me.  Besides,"  he  added,  his  eyes 
twinkling  shrewdly,  "  I'm  goin'  to  git 
even.  I'm  lay  in'  off  to  take  Jim  Belcher, 


A  Snipe-Hunt  213 

that  biggetty  drummer  from  Waco, 
a-snipin'  out  Buck  Snort  next  Sat'day 
night.  He's  a  bigger  idjit  than  I  ever 
was." 

"  You  ten'  to  your  own  business,  Bud, 
an'  I'll  ten'  to  mine,"  Mrs.  Cullum  re 
turned,  not  unkindly.  Which  business 
on  her  part  apparently  was  to  make  Mr. 
Cullum  miserable  by  taking  no  notice  of 
him  whatever.  The  house  under  her  su 
pervision  was,  as  it  had  always  been,  a 
model  of  neatness;  the  meals  were  cook 
ed  by  her  own  hands  and  served  with 
an  especial  eye  to  Tobe's  comfort;  his 
clothes  were  washed  and  ironed,  and  his 
white  shirt  laid  out  on  Sunday  morn 
ings,  with  the  accustomed  care  and  regu 
larity.  But  with  these  details  Mrs. 
Cullum's  wifely  attentions  ended.  She 
remained  absolutely  deaf  to  any  remark 
addressed  to  her  by  her  husband,  looking 
through  and  beyond  him  when  he  was 
present  with  a  steady,  unseeing  gaze, 
which  was,  to  say  the  least,  exasperating. 
All  necessary  communication  with  him 
was  carried  on  by  means  of  the  children. 
"  Minty,"  she  would  say  at  the  break 
fast-table,  "ask  your  pa  if  he  wants 
another  cup  of  coffee " ;  or  at  night, 
"  Temp'unce,  tell  your  pa  that  Buster 
has  shed  a  shoe " ;  or,  "  Sue,  does  your 


214  Harper's  Novelettes 

pa  know  where  them  well-grabs  is?"  et 
csetera,  et  ceetera. 

The  demoralized  household  huddled,  so 
to  speak,  between  the  opposing  camps, 
frightened  and  unhappy,  and  things  were 
altogether  in  a  bad  way. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Miss  Minty 
Cullum,  following  her  mother's  example, 
took  high  and  mighty  ground  with  Jack 
Carter,  dismissing  that  gentleman  with 
a  promptness  and  coolness  which  left 
him  wellnigh  dumb  with  amazement. 

"Lord,  Minty!"  he  gasped.  "Why, 
I  was  taken  snipe-hunting  myself  not 
more'n  five  years  ago.  I — " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  fool, 
Jack  Carter/'  interrupted  his  sweetheart, 
with  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head ;  "  that  set 
tles  it !"  and  she  slammed  the  door  in  his 
face. 

Matters  were  at  such  a  pass  finally 
that  Mr.  Skaggs,  the  circuit-rider,  when 
he  came  to  preach,  the  third  Sunday  in 
the  month,  at  Ebenezer  Church,  deemed 
it  his  duty  to  remonstrate  and  pray  with 
Sister  Cullum  at  her  own  house.  She 
listened  to  his  exhortations  in  grim  si 
lence,  and  knelt  without  a  word  when 
he  summoned  her  to  wrestle  before  the 
Throne  of  Grace.  "  Lord,"  he  concluded, 
after  a  long  and  powerful  summing  up 


A  Snipe-Hunt  215 

of  the  erring  sister's  misdeeds,  "  Thou 
knowest  that  she  is  travelling  the  broad 
and  flowery  road  to  destruction.  Show 
her  the  evil  of  her  ways,  and  warn  her 
to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

He  arose  from  his  knees  with  a  look 
of  satisfaction  on  his  face,  which 
changed  to  one  of  chagrin  when  he  saw 
Sister  Cullum's  chair  empty,  and  Sister 
Cullum  herself  out  in  the  backyard 
tranquilly  and  silently  feeding  her  hens. 

"  She  shore  did  flee  from  the  wrath 
to  come,  Sissy  did,"  chuckled  Granny 
Games,  when  this  episode  reached  her 
ears. 

As  for  Tobe,  he  bore  himself  in  the 
early  days  of  his  affliction  in  a  jaunty 
debonair  fashion,  affecting  a  sprightliness 
which  did  not  deceive  his  cronies  at 
Bishop's.  In  time,  however,  finding  all 
his  attempts  at  reconciliation  with  Sissy 
vain,  he  became  uneasy,  and  almost  as 
silent  as  herself,  then  morose  and  irrita 
ble,  and  finally  black  and  thunderous. 

"  He's  that  wore  upon  that  nobody 
dassent  to  go  anigh  him,"  said  Mrs.  Pin- 
son,  solemnly.  "  An'  no  wonder!  Fer 
of  all  the  conniptions  that  ever  struck 
the  women  o'  Jim-Ned,  ez  wives,  Sissy 
Cullum's  conniptions  air  the  outbeat- 
enes'." 


216  Harper's  Novelettes 

But  human  endurance  has  its  limits. 
Mr.  Cullum's  reached  his  at  the  supper- 
table  one  night  about  three  weeks  after 
the  beginning  of  his  discipline.  He  had 
been  ploughing  all  day,  and  brooding, 
presumably,  over  his  tribulations,  and 
there  was  a  techy  look  in  his  dark  eyes 
as  he  seated  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
well-spread  table,  presided  over  by  Mrs. 
Cullum,  impassive  and  dumb  as  usual. 
The  six  girls  were  ranged  on  either  side. 

"  Well,  ma,"  began  Tobe,  with  assumed 
gayety,  turning  up  his  plate,  "what  for 
a  day  have  you  had?" 

Sissy  looked  through  and  beyond  him 
with  fixed,  unresponsive  gaze,  and  said 
never  a  word. 

Then,  as  Mr.  Cullum  afterward  said, 
"  Ole  Satan  swep'  an'  garnisheed  him 
an'  tuk  possession  of  him."  He  seized 
the  heavy  teacup  in  front  of  him  and 
hurled  it  at  his  unsuspecting  spouse;  she 
gasped,  paling  slightly,  and  dodged.  The 
missile,  striking  the  brick  chimney-jamb 
behind  her,  crashed  and  fell  shivering 
into  fragments  on  the  hearth.  The  sau 
cer  followed.  Then,  Tobe's  spirits  rising, 
plate  after  plate  hurtled  across  the  table; 
the  air  fairly  bristled  with  flying  crock 
ery.  Mrs.  Cullum,  after  the  first  shock 
of  surprise,  continued  calmly  to  eat  her 


A  Snipe-Hunt  217 

supper,  moving  her  head  from  right  to 
left  or  ducking  to  avoid  an  unusually 
well-aimed  projectile. 

Little  Sis  scrambled  down  from  her 
high  chair  at  the  first  hint  of  hostilities, 
and  dived,  screaming,  under  the  table; 
the  others  remained  in  their  places,  half 
paralyzed  with  terror. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it, 
Mr.  Cullum,  reaching  out  his  long  arms, 
had  cleared  half  the  board  of  its  stone 
and  glass  ware.  Finally  he  laid  a  savage 
hand  upon  a  small,  old  -  fashioned  blue 
pitcher  left  standing  alone  in  a  wide 
waste  of  table-cloth. 

At  this  Sissy  surrendered  uncondition 
ally.  "Oh,  Tobe,  fer  Gawd's  sake!"  she 
cried,  throwing  out  her  hands  and  quiv 
ering  from  head  to  foot.  "  I  give  in ! 
I  give  in!  Don't  break  the  little  blue- 
chiny  pitcher!  You  fetched  it  to  me 
the  day  little  Bud  was  born!  An'  he 
drunk  out'n  it  jest  afore  he  died!  Fer 
Gawd's  sake,  Tobe,  honey!  I  give  in!" 

Tobe  set  down  the  pitcher  as  gingerly 
as  if  it  had  been  a  soap-bubble.  Then, 
with  a  whoop  which  fairly  lifted  the  roof 
from  the  cabin,  he  cleared  the  interven 
ing  space  between  them  and  caught  his 
wife  in  his  arms. 

Minty,  with  ready  tact,  dragged  Little 


218  Harper's  Novelettes 

Sis  from  under  the  table,  and  driving 
the  rest  of  the  flock  before  her,  fled  the 
room  and  shut  the  door  behind  her.  On 
the  dark  porch  she  ran  plump  upon  Jack 
Carter. 

"  Why,  Jack !"  she  cried,  with  her  tear- 
wet  face  tucked  before  she  knew  it 
against  his  breast,  "what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"Oh,  just  hanging  around,"  grinned 
Mr.  Carter. 

"Gawd  be  praised!"  roared  Tobe,  in 
side  the  house. 

"Amen!"  responded  Jack,  outside. 

"An'  Tobe  Cullum,"  announced  Joe 
Trimble  at  Bishop's  the  next  day,  "  have 
ordered  up  the  fines'  set  o'  chiny  in  Waco 
fer  Sissy." 

"It  beats  me,"  said  Newt  Pinson; 
"but  I  allers  did  say  that  the  women  o' 
Jim-Ned,  ez  wives,  air  the  outbeatenes' 
critters  in  creation!" 


The  Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill 

BY   J.   J.   EAKINS 

IT  was  early  morning-  in  the  Blue- 
grass.  The  triumphant  sun  was  driv 
ing  the  white  mist  before  it  from 
wood  and  rolling  meadow-land,  rousing 
the  drowsy  cattle  from  their  tranquil 
dreams  and  quickening  into  fuller  life 
all  the  inhabitants  of  that  favored  re 
gion,  from  the  warlike  woodpecker  with 
his  head  of  flame  high  up  in  the  naked 
tree  -  top  to  the  timid  ground  -  squirrel 
flitting  along  the  graystone  fences.  It 
glorified  with  splendid  impartiality  the 
apple  blossoms  in  the  orchards  and  the 
vagabond  blackberry  bushes  blooming  by 
the  roadside ;  and  then,  with  many  a  mile 
of  smiling  pastures  in  its  victorious 
wake,  it  burst  over  the  low  rampart  of 
stable  roofs  encircling  the  old  Lexington 
race-course,  and,  after  a  hasty  glimpse 
at  the  horses  speeding  around  the  track 
and  the  black  boys  singing  and  slouching 
from  stall  to  stall  with  buckets  of  water 


22O  Harper's  Novelettes 

on  their  heads,  it  rushed  impetuously 
into  an  old-fashioned,  deep-waistcd  fami 
ly  barouche  beside  one  of  the  stables, 
and  shone  full  upon  a  slender,  girlish 
figure  within.  It  wasted  no  time  upon  a 
purple-faced  old  gentleman  beside  her, 
nor  upon  two  young  gentlemen  on  the 
seat  opposite,  but  rested  with  bold  and 
ardent  admiration  upon  the  young  girl's 
face,  touching  her  cheeks  with  a  color 
as  delicate  as  the  apple  blossoms  in  the 
orchards,  and  weaving  into  her  rich 
brown  hair  the  red  gold  of  its  own  beams. 
The  picture  was  so  dazzling  and  alto 
gether  so  unprecedented  that  Colonel 
Bill  Jarvis,  the  young  owner  of  the 
stable,  who  had  come  swinging  around 
the  corner,  whistling  a  lively  tune,  his 
hat  thrown  back  on  his  head,  and  who 
had  almost  run  plump  into  the  carriage, 
stopped  abruptly  and  stood  staring.  lie 
was  roused  to  a  realizing  sense  of  his 
position  by  Major  Cicero  Johnson,  editor 
of  the  Lexington  Chronicle  and  presi 
dent  of  the  association,  who  was  stand 
ing  beside  the  barouche,  saying,  with 
that  courtliness  of  manner  and  ampli 
tude  of  rhetoric  which  made  him  a  fixture 
in  the  legislative  halls  at  Frankfort: 
"  Colonel  Bill,  I  want  to  present  you  to 
General  Thomas  Anderson  Braxton,  the 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       221 

hero  of  two  wars,  of  whom  as  a  Kcntuck- 
ian  you  must  be  proud,  and  his  sons 
Matt  and  Jack,  and  his  daughter,  Miss 
Sue,  the  Flower  of  the  Blue-grass.  La 
dies  and  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  with 
an  oratorical  wave  of  his  hand  towards 
the  Colonel,  who  had  bowed  gravely  to 
each  person  in  turn  to  whom  he  was  in 
troduced,  "  this  is  my  friend  Colonel  Bill 
Jarvis,  the  finest  horseman  and  the  most 
gallant  young  turfman  between  the  Ohio 
Eiver  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

While  the  Major  was  speaking,  Colonel 
Bill's  eyes  wandered  from  the  two  young 
gentlemen  on  the  front  seat  to  the  pur 
ple-faced  old  General  on  the  rear  seat, 
and  then  rested  on  Miss  Braxton.  Her 
eyes  met  his,  and  she  smiled.  It  was 
such  a  pleasant,  gracious,  encouraging 
smile,  and  there  was  so  much  kindliness 
in  the  depths  of  the  soft  brown  eyes, 
that  the  Colonel  was  reassured  at  once. 

"  We  have  come  to  disturb  you  at  this 
unearthly  hour,"  said  Miss  Braxton, 
apologetically,  "because  I  wanted  to  see 
the  horses  at  their  work,  and  father  and 
my  brothers  were  good  enough  to  come 
with  me." 

Colonel  Bill  explained  that  his  horses 
had  finished  their  morning  exercise,  but 
that  it  would  afford  him  great  pleasure 


222  Harper's  Novelettes 

to  show  them  in  their  stalls.  Miss  Brax- 
ton  was  sure  that  they  were  putting  him 
to  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  she  was 
also  convinced  that  to  see  horses  in  their 
stalls  must  be  delightful;  so  presently 
the  party  was  marching  along  under  the 
shed,  looking  at  the  calm-eyed  thorough 
breds  in  their  narrow  little  homes,  the 
Colonel  and  Miss  Braxton  leading  the 
way. 

With  the  wisdom  of  her  sex,  Miss 
Braxton  concealed  her  lack  of  special 
knowledge  by  a  generous  general  enthu 
siasm  which  captivated  her  simple-heart 
ed  host. 

"And  that  is  really  Beau  Brummel!" 
she  cried,  with  sparkling  eyes,  pointing 
to  a  splendid  deep-chested  animal,  who 
was  regarding  them  with  mild  curiosity. 
"And  that  is  Queen  of  Sheba  next  to 
him !  What  lovely  heads  they  have,  and 
how  very  proud  you  must  be  to  own 
them!"  One  would  have  thought  her 
days  and  nights  had  been  given  to  a 
study  of  these  two  thoroughbreds.  ^ 

"  They  are  the  best  long  -  distance 
horses  in  the  country,"  said  the  Colonel, 
flushing  with  pleasure.  And  then,  in  re 
ply  to  her  eager  questioning,  he  gave 
their  pedigrees  and  performances,  all 
their  battles  and  victories,  in  detail— a 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill      223 

list  as  long-  and  as  glorious  as  the  tri 
umphs  of  Napoleon,  and  perhaps  as  use 
ful.  At  each  stall  she  had  fresh  ques 
tions  to  ask.  Her  brothers,  with  an  eye 
to  the  coming  meeting,  listened  eagerly 
to  the  Colonel's  answers,  while  the  Major 
and  the  General,  lagging  behind,  dis 
cussed  affairs  of  state.  At  last  the  horses 
were  all  seen;  everybody  shook  hands 
with  the  Colonel  and  thanked  him,  the 
General  with  great  pompousness,  and 
Miss  Braxton  with  a  smile,  and  a  hope 
that  she  might  see  him  during  the  meet 
ing;  and  the  old  barouche  went  lumber 
ing  away  down  the  road,  until  it  present 
ly  buried  itself,  like  a  monstrous  cuttle 
fish,  in  a  cloud  of  its  own  making. 

Colonel  Bill  looked  after  it  with  a 
pleased  expression  on  his  face,  and  pull 
ing  his  tawny  mustache  reflectively, 
muttered  to  himself  with  true  masculine 
acuteness,  "  She  knew  as  much  about  my 
horses  as  I  did  myself." 

The  great  Lexington  meeting  was  in 
the  full  tide  of  its  success.  Peach-cheek 
ed,  bright-eyed  Blue-grass  girls,  and  their 
big-boned,  deep-chested  admirers,  riding 
and  driving  in  couples  and  parties,  filled 
all  the  white,  dusty  turnpikes  leading  to 
the  race-course,  and  made  gay  the  quaint 


224  Harper's  Novelettes 

old  Lexington  streets.  The  grand-stand 
echoed  with  their  merriment,  and  they 
cheered  home  the  horses  with  an  enthu 
siasm  seen  nowhere  else  in  the  world. 

The  centre  of  the  liveliest  of  all  these 
merry  groups,  noticeable  for  her  grace 
and  beauty  even  there,  where  so  many 
lovely  girls  were  gathered,  was  Miss 
Braxton.  She  was  continuously  sur 
rounded  by  a  devoted  body-guard  of 
young  men,  many  of  whom  had  ridden 
miles  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  bewitch 
ing  face,  and  who  felt  more  than  recom 
pensed  for  their  efforts  by  a  glance  from 
her  bright  eyes. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  meeting  Colonel 
Bill,  arrayed  with  unusual  care,  had 
eagerly  scanned  the  occupants  of  the 
grand -stand.  His  eyes  ran  heedlessly 
over  scores  of  pretty  faces,  until  finally 
they  rested  upon  the  group  around  Miss 
Braxton.  Then,  carefully  buttoning  up 
his  coat  and  straightening  out  his  tall 
figure,  as  a  brave  man  might  who  was 
about  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope  or  receive 
his  opponent's  fire,  he  bore  down  upon 
them.  Miss  Braxton  welcomed  him  cor 
dially,  and  introduced  him  to  the  gentle 
men  about  her.  She  straightway  became 
so  gracious  to  him  that  he  aroused  an 
amazing  amount  of  suspicion  and  dislike 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       225 

in  the  little  circle,  to  all  of  which,  how 
ever,  he  was  happily  oblivious.  He  was 
a  capital  mimic,  and  under  the  inspira 
tion  of  her  applause  he  told  innumerable 
*  negro  stories  with  such  lifelike  fidelity 
to  nature  that  even  the  hostile  circle  was 
convulsed,  and  Miss  Braxton  laughed 
until  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

Time  sped  so  swiftly  that  the  last  race 
was  run  before  the  Colonel  was  aware 
that  the  programme  was  half  over,  and 
he  found  himself  saying  good-bye  to  Miss 
Braxton,  and  wishing  with  all  his  heart 
he  were  one  of  the  half-dozen  lucky 
young  men  who  were  waiting  on  their 
horses  outside  to  escort  her  carriage  back 
to  Lexington. 

It  was  that  same  evening  old  Elias, 
Colonel  Bill's,  body-servant  and  general 
assistant,  noticed  a  most  surprising  de 
velopment  in  his  young  employer.  One 
of  the  Colonel's  most  prized  possessions 
was  a  fiddle.  It  had  never  been  known, 
in  all  the  years  he  owned  it,  to  utter  aught 
except  the  most  joyful  sounds.  When 
ever  he  picked  it  up,  as  he  frequently  did 
on  winter  nights,  when  everybody  gath 
ered  around  the  big  wood  fire  in  his 
room,  the  stable-boys  at  once  made  ready 
to  beat  time  to  "Money  Musk,"  "Old 
Dan  Tucker,"  and  other  cheerful  airs. 

15          S.  L. 


226  Harper's  Novelettes 

On  this  particular  night  the  Colonel 
seized  the  fiddle  and  strode  gloomily  to 
the  end  of  the  stable.  Presently  there 
came  forth  upon  the  night  air  such  mel 
ancholy  and  dismal  notes  as  made  every 
stable-boy,  from  little  Pete  to  big  Mose, 
shiver.  As  the  lugubrious  sounds  con 
tinued,  the  boys  fled  to  their  loft,  leaving 
Elias,  who  had  watched  over  the  Colonel 
from  his  infancy,  to  keep  vigil,  with  a 
troubled  look  on  his  withered  face.  Many 
nights  thereafter  was  this  singular  pro 
ceeding  repeated,  to  the  ever-increasing 
wonderment  of  Elias. 

Every  day  during  the  meeting  when 
Miss  Braxton  was  at  the  track  Colonel 
Bill  sought  her  out.  Sometimes  he  had 
a  chance  for  a  long  talk,  but  oftener  he 
was  forced  to  content  himself  with  short 
er  interviews.  More  than  once  he  no 
ticed  General  Braxton  join  his  daughter 
when  he  approached,  and  he  found  that 
old  warrior's  manner  growing  more  and 
more  cold. 

"He's  a  loser,"  thought  the  Colonel, 
to  whom  it  never  for  a  moment  occurred 
that  his  own  presence  might  be  disagree 
able  to  any  one.  "A  man  oughtn't  to 
bet  when  he  can't  stand  a-losing,"  he 
concluded,  philosophically,  and  then  he 
dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind. 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       227 

On  the  last  day  of  the  races,  after 
waiting  for  an  hour  or  more  to  speak 
alone  to  Miss  Braxton,  and  finding  her 
constantly  guarded  by  her  father,  who 
looked  fiercer  than  usual,  Colonel  Bill 
was  finally  compelled  to  join  her  as  she 
and  the  General  were  leaving  the  grand 
stand.  She  saw  him  coming,  and 
stopped,  a  pleased  look  on  her  face.  The 
General,  with  a  frigid  nod,  moved  on  a 
few  paces  and  left  them  together. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  if  I  might  call  on 
you  this  evening,  Miss  Braxton,"  said 
the  Colonel,  timidly,  "  if  you  have  no 
other  engagement." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  indeed  to  have 
you  call,"  she  replied,  cordially,  adding, 
with  a  smile,  "You  know,  Lexington  is 
not  so  wildly  gay  that  we  haven't  ample 
time  to  see  our  friends." 

As  he  walked  away  the  Colonel  thought 
he  heard  his  name  mentioned  by  General 
Braxton,  and  although  the  words  were 
inaudible,  the  tone  was  sharp  and  com 
manding.  He  turned  and  glanced  back. 
The  girl's  face  was  flushed,  and  she  look 
ed  excited,  something  unusual  to  her 
self  -  contained,  reposeful  manner.  As 
they  moved  out  of  hearing,  the  General 
was  still  talking  with  great  earnestness, 
and  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  began  to  op- 


228  Harper's  Novelettes 

press  him.  This  feeling  had  not  alto 
gether  departed  when  he  galloped  into 
Lexington  that  night,  his  long -tailed, 
white  linen  duster  buttoned  up  to  his 
chin,  the  brim  of  his  soft  black  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

The  Elms,  a  roomy  old-fashioned  house 
encircled  by  wide  verandas,  the  home  of 
the  Braxtons  for  generations,  was  one  of 
the  landmarks  of  Lexington.  A  long 
stretch  of  lawn  filled  with  shrubbery  and 
clumps  of  trees  protected  its  inmates 
from  the  city's  dust  and  turmoil  and 
almost  concealed  the  house  itself  from 
view.  The  Colonel,  to  whom  the  Elms 
was  perfectly  well  known,  never  drew 
rein  till  he  was  before  it,  and  then,  check 
ing  his  horse  so  suddenly  that  a  less  in 
telligent  animal  would  have  turned  a 
somersault,  swung  himself  out  of  the 
saddle  with  the  ease  of  one  who  had 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  there, 
fastened  the  bridle  to  a  ring  in  a  great 
oak-tree  by  the  curbing,  and  opening  the 
big  iron  gate,  strode  up  the  gravelled 
walk  which  wound  through  the  shrub 
bery. 

Miss  Braxton  had  been  sitting  at  the 
piano  in  the  drawing-room  playing  soft 
ly.  The  long  windows  looking  out  on 
the  veranda  were  opened  to  admit  the 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       229 

balmy  air,  and  before  her  visitor  ar 
rived  she  heard  his  approaching  foot 
steps. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come,"  she 
said,  walking  out  to  meet  him;  "I  was 
afraid  that  in  the  excitement  of  the  race 
track  you  might  have  forgotten  our  en 
gagement.  I  felt  a  little  depressed  this 
evening,  and  that  is  another  reason  why 
I  am  glad  to  see  you."  She  led  the  way 
back  into  the  drawing-room  as  she  talk 
ed,  and  invited  the  Colonel  to  sit  beside 
her  on  one  of  the  sofas.  In  the  soft  glow 
of  the  dimly  lighted  lamps  he  thought 
she  had  never  appeared  so  beautiful;  and 
the  rich  fragrance  of  the  dew-laden  roses 
and  honeysuckle  wafted  in  through  the 
open  windows  seemed  to  him  to  be  an 
atmosphere  peculiar  to  her  alone,  like  the 
exceeding  sweetness  of  her  soft,  low 
voice  and  the  easy  grace  of  her  move 
ments. 

In  reply  to  her  questions  he  told  her 
of  his  adventures  on  far  Southern  tracks, 
and  of  the  careless,  reckless  life  he  had 
led.  lie  had  seen  many  strange  and  stir 
ring  sights  during  his  wanderings;  and 
to  her,  whose  young  life  had  hitherto 
flown  along  as  peacefully  as  a  meadow- 
brook,  it  seemed  like  a  new  and  thrilling 
romance,  with  a  living  being  in  place  of 


230  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  printed  page.     Once  he  mentioned  a 
woman's  name,  and  she  started. 

"In  all  that  time,"  she  inquired,  soft 
ly,  her  eyes  lowered,  "did  no  woman 
ever  come  into  your  life?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  simply;  "I  never 
thought  of  a  woman  then." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  lowered 
them  instantly,  her  face  flushing. 

During  a  moment's  lull  in  the  conver 
sation  the  hour  was  struck  from  a  neigh 
boring  steeple.  They  both  started,  half- 
guiltily.  It  was  midnight.  He  at  once 
arose  to  go,  apologizing  for  the  lateness 
of  his  visit. 

"I  would  like  to  see  you  again,  Miss 
Braxton,  before  I  go  North,"  he  said,  as 
he  prepared  to  leave. 

She  had  risen  with  him,  and  they  were 
both  standing  beside  the  mantel.  Her 
face  paled.  Then  she  turned  her  head 
aside,  and  said,  in  a  tone  that  was  al 
most  inaudible,  "Father  objects." 

He  became  rigid  instantly,  and  his  lips 
grew  white.  "I  suppose  your  father 
don't  know  who  I  am,"  he  said,  proud 
ly.  "  My  family  is  as  good  as  any  in  the 
State.  I  loved  horses  and  the  life  and 
color  of  the  race-track,  and  refused  to 
go  to  college  when  I  could.  Until  I  met 
you  I  never  thought  of  anything  except 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       231 

horses.  But  the  pedigree  of  my  people 
is  straight.  There  isn't  a  cold  cross  on 
either  side.  I  know  I  amount  to  nothing 
myself,"  he  continued,  bitterly,  his  eyes 
resting  gloomily  on  the  floor ;  "  I'm 
only  a  no-account  old  selling-plater,  and 
I'll  just  go  back  to  the  stable,  where  I 
belong."  Here  an  unusual  sound  inter 
rupted  him,  and  he  looked  up.  The  girl, 
with  her  head  on  her  arm,  was  leaning 
against  the  mantel,  sobbing  quietly.  In 
a  moment  he  forgot  all  about  himself 
and  snatched  up  her  disengaged  hand. 

"  Do  you  really  care  ?"  he  cried,  press 
ing  the  fluttering  little  hand  in  both  of 
his. 

She  lifted  up  her  face,  the  soft  brown 
eyes  swimming  in  tears.  "  I  wouldn't 
mind,"  she  replied,  half  laughing  and 
half  sobbing — "  I  wouldn't  mind  at  all 
about  the  pedigree,  and  I  know  you're 
not  an  old  selling-plater;  but  if  you 
were,  I  am  very  sure  that  I  would  care 
for  you." 

The  Lexington  meeting  was  over,  and 
the  horsemen  were  scattered  far  and 
wide,  from  Chicago  to  Sheepshead  Bay. 
Colonel  Bill  alone  remained  behind.  As 
the  days  passed  and  he  made  no  prepara 
tion  to  depart,  old  Elias's  irritation  grew 


232  Harper's  Novelettes 

apace,  and  the  lives  of  the  stable-boys 
under  the  increasing  rigor  of  his  rule 
became  almost  unendurable.  The  Colo 
nel,  however,  saw  very  little  of  Elias  or 
the  stable-boys.  Even  his  beloved  horses 
no  longer  interested  him.  He  passed  the 
days  walking  the  streets  of  Lexington, 
hoping  by  some  chance  to  meet  Miss 
Braxton,  and  it  was  not  until  late  at 
night  that  he  returned  to  the  race-track, 
foot-sore  and  disappointed.  He  had  been 
too  deeply  wounded  and  was  too  proud 
to  make  any  further  effort  to  visit  the 
Elms,  and  he  thought  it  would  be  un 
manly  and  ungenerous  to  ask  Miss  Brax 
ton  to  meet  him  away  from  her  father's 
house. 

In  the  mean  time  the  old  General's 
wrath  increased  as  the  days  passed.  Ho 
was  unused  to  any  kind  of  opposition, 
and  the  Colonel's  persistence  irritated 
him  beyond  measure.  The  dream  of  his 
life  was  a  brilliant  marriage  for  his 
daughter,  and  no  amount  of  argument 
could  alter  his  opinion  that  Colonel  Bill 
was  a  rude,  unlettered  stable-man. 

"Why,  sir,"  he  would  exclaim,  over  a 
mint-julep,  to  his  friend  Major  Johnson, 
who  always  defended  the  Colonel  vigor 
ously,  "  the  idea  of  such  attentions  to 
my  daughter  is  preposterous — ludicrous! 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       233 

I  will  not  permit  it,  sir — not  for  one  mo 
ment.  If  he  persists  in  annoying  my 
family,  sir,"  and  the  purple  hue  of  the 
General's  face  deepened,  "  I  would  no 
more  hesitate  to  shoot  him — no  more,  by 
gad ! — than  I  would  a  rattlesnake."  After 
the  fourth  or  fifth  julep  he  did  not  al 
ways  confine  his  conversation  to  his 
friend,  and  so  his  threats  often  found 
their  way  back  to  the  object  of  his  wrath, 
losing  nothing  by  the  journey.  Although 
the  Colonel's  disposition  was  the  sunni 
est,  the  strain  to  which  he  was  being 
subjected  was  telling  on  his  nerves,  and 
once  or  twice  he  replied  sharply  to  the 
tale-bearers.  The  little  city  was  soon 
excited  over  the  quarrel,  and  every  move 
ment  of  the  principals  was  eagerly  noted. 
"  My  money  goes  on  Bill,"  said  Jule 
Chinn,  the  proprietor  of  the  Blue-grass 
Club,  when  the  matter  came  up  for  dis 
cussion  there  between  deals.  "  I  saw 
him  plug  that  Creole  down  in  Orleans. 
First  he  throws  him  down  the  steps  of 
the  St.  Charles  for  insultin'  a  lady. 
When'Frenchy  insists  on  a  duel  an'  Bill 
gets  up  in  front  of  him,  he  says,  in  that 
free-an'-easy  way  of  his,  '  We  mark  pup 
pies  up  in  my  country  by  cutting  their 
ears,  and  that's  what  I'm  going  to  do  to 
you,  for  you  ain't  fit  to  die/  an'  blame 


234  Harper's  Novelettes 

me  if  he  don't  just  pop  bullets  through 
that  fellow's  ears  like  you'd  punch  holes 
in  a  piece  of  cheese!"  After  that  the 
Colonel  ruled  a  strong  favorite  in  the 
betting. 

When  this  condition  of  affairs  had  ex 
isted  for  two  weeks,  the  Colonel  arose 
one  morning  from  a  sleepless  bed  with  a 
fixed  idea  in  his  mind.  He  sat  down  to  a 
table  in  his  room,  pulled  out  some  writ 
ing-paper,  and  set  to  work.  After  many 
sheets  had  been  covered  and  destroyed, 
he  finally  decided  upon  the  following: 

"DEAR  Miss  BRAXTON, — I  am  going 
away  from  Lexington  to-morrow,  prob 
ably  never  to  return.  Will  you  be  at 
your  father's  gate  at  three  o'clock  this 
afternoon,  as  I  would  like  to  say  good 
bye  to  you  before  I  go  ? 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"WILLIAM  JARVIS." 

After  he  had  finished  this  epistle  it 
seemed  to  him  entirely  too  cold;  but  the 
others,  which  he  had  written  in  a  more 
sentimental  vein,  had  appeared  unduly 
presumptuous.  lie  finally  sealed  it  and 
gave  it  to  Pete,  with  terrific  threats  of 
personal  violence  in  case  of  anything 
preventing  its  prompt  delivery.  While 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       235 

Pete  was  galloping  off  to  Lexington  at 
breakneck  speed,  the  Colonel  was  won 
dering  what  the  answer  would  be. 

"  I'll  just  say  good-bye  to  her,"  he  mut 
tered,  moodily,  "  and  then  I'll  never  see 
her  again.  I  suppose  I  belong  with  the 
horses,  anyhow,  and  that  old  bottle-nosed 
General  has  me  classed  all  right!" 

When  Pete  returned  he  handed  the 
Colonel  a  dainty  little  three  -  cornerecl 
note.  It  was  addressed  to  "My  dear 
friend,"  and  the  writer  was  so  sorry  he 
was  going  away  so  very  soon,  and  had 
hoped  he  would  stay  ever  so  much  longer, 
and  then  signed  herself  cordially  his, 
Susan  Burleigh  Braxton.  At  the  bottom 
was  a  postscript — "I  will  expect  you  at 
three  o'clock." 

An  hour  before  the  appointed  time  the 
Colonel  was  striding  impatiently  up  and 
down  before  the  Elms,  incessantly  con 
sulting  his  watch  or  wistfully  gazing  up 
the  gravelled  walk.  It  still  lacked  sev 
eral  minutes  of  three,  when  his  heart 
gave  a  great  jump  as  he  saw  Miss  Brax- 
ton's  graceful  figure  flitting  in  and  out 
through  the  shrubbery.  She  stopped  to 
pluck  some  roses  from  a  bush  that  hung 
over  the  walk,  bending  down  the  richly 
laden  bough  so  that  the  flowers  made  a 
complete  circle  about  her  bright  young 


236  Harper's  Novelettes 

face,  and  as  she  raised  her  eyes  she 
caught  the  Colonel  gazing  at  her  with 
such  a  look  of  abject  idolatry  that  she 
laughed  and  blushed.  "  You  see  I  am  on 
time,"  she  cried,  gayly,  hastening  down 
to'  the  gate  and  handing  him  one  of  her 
roses.  "  I  am  going  to  the  post-office, 
and  you  may  walk  with  me  if  you  care 
to."  If  he  cared  to!  Her  mere  presence 
beside  him,  the  feeling  that  he  could 
reach  out  his  hand  and  touch  her,  the 
music  of  her  voice,  filled  him  with  a  joy 
of  which  he  had  never  before  dreamed. 

After  they  had  left  the  post-office,  by 
mutual  direction  their  footsteps  turned 
from  the  more  crowded  thoroughfares, 
and  they  walked  down  a  quiet  and  de 
serted  street  where  the  stones  were  cov 
ered  with  moss,  and  where  solemn 
gnarled  old  trees  lined  the  way  on  either 
side  and  met  above  their  heads,  the  fresh 
green  leaves  murmuring  softly  together 
like  living  things. 

They  reached  the  end  of  the  old  street, 
and  were  almost  in  the  country.  A 
wide-spreading  chestnut-tree  stood  before 
them,  around  whose  giant  bole  a  rustic 
seat  had  been  built.  They  walked  towards 
it  in  silence  and  sat  down  side  by  side. 

They  were  entirely  alone.  A  gay  young 
red-bird,  his  head  knowingly  cocked  on 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       237 

one  side,  perched  in  the  branches  just 
above  them.  A  belated  bumblebee,  al 
ready  heavy  laden,  hung  over  a  cluster 
of  wild  flowers  at  their  feet.  A  long- 
legged  garrulous  grasshopper,  undismay 
ed  by  their  presence,  uttered  his  clarion 
notes  on  the  seat  beside  them. 

The  inquisitive  young  red-bird  looking 
down  could  only  see  a  soft  black  hat  and 
a  white  straw  hat  with  flowers  about  its 
broad  brim.  He  heard  the  black  hat 
wondering  if  any  one  ever  thought  of 
him,  to  which  the  straw  hat  replied  soft 
ly  that  it  was  sure  some  one  did  think 
of  him  very  often.  Then  the  black  hat 
wondered  if  some  one,  when  it  was  away, 
would  continue  to  think  of  it,  and  the 
flowered  straw,  still  more  softly,  was  very, 
very  sure  some  one  would. 

Then  the  red-bird  saw  such  a  remark 
able  thing  happen  that  his  bright  eyes 
almost  popped  out  of  his  little  head.  He 
saw  a  hand  and  a  powerful  arm  suddenly 
steal  out  from  below  the  black  hat  and 
move  in  the  direction  of  the  flowered 
straw — not  hurriedly,  but  stealthily  and 
surely.  Having  reached  it,  the  hand  and 
the  arm  drew  the  unresisting  flowered 
straw  in  the  direction  of  the  black  hat, 
until  presently  the  hats  came  together. 
And  then  the  red-bird,  himself  desperate- 


238  Harper's  Novelettes 

ly  in  love,  knew  what  it  all  meant,  and 
burst  into  jubilant  song.  Arid  the  hard 
working  bumblebee,  who  also  had  a 
sweetheart,  took  a  moment's  rest  in  honor 
of  the  event  and  buzzed  his  delight;  and 
even  the  long-legged  grasshopper,  an  ad 
mirer  of  the  sex,  but  a  confirmed  bache 
lor,  shouted  his  approbation  until  he  was 
fairly  hoarse. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  adventu 
rous  hand  could  be  put  back  where  it 
properly  belonged,  and  the  face  beneath 
the  straw,  when  it  came  into  view,  was 
a  very  flushed  face,  but  the  brown  eyes 
shone  like  stars.  As  they  walked  through 
the  old  street,  the  setting  sun  filling  the 
air  with  a  golden  glory,  they  passed  a 
sweet-faced  old  lady  cutting  flowers  in 
her  garden,  and  she  smiled  an  indulgent 
smile,  and  they  nodded  and  smiled  back 
at  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  some 
thing,"  Miss  Braxton  said,  suddenly 
stopping  and  looking  up  at  him.  "  I 
want  you  to  promise  me,"  she  continued, 
not  waiting  for  his  reply,  "  that  you  will 
not  quarrel  with  my  father.  He  is  the 
best  father  in  the  world.  My  mother 
died  when  I  was  a  child,  and  since  then 
he  has  been  father  and  mother  and  the 
whole  world  to  me.  I  could  never  for- 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       239 

give  myself  if  you  exchanged  a  harsh 
word  with  him." 

"  If  all  the  stories  I  hear  are  true," 
replied  the  Colonel,  with  a  good-humor 
ed  laugh,  "your  father  is  the  one  for 
you  to  see." 

"My  father  says  a  great  deal  which 
he  frequently  regrets  the  moment  after 
wards,"  she  responded,  earnestly.  "He 
is  a  warm-hearted  and  an  impulsive  man, 
and  the  dearest  and  best  father  in  the 
world."  The  Colonel  gave  the  desired 
promise,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence. 
When  they  reached  the  Elms,  and  her 
hand  was  on  the  big  iron  gate,  she  turn 
ed  to  him,  an  appealing  look  in  her  eyes. 
"  Must  you  really  go  to-morrow  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  am  compelled  to  go,"  he  replied, 
sadly.  "I  have  already  remained  here 
too  long.  I  must  start  to-morrow  night." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am 
that  you  are  going  away,"  she  said,  soft 
ly,  extending  her  hand.  He  caught  it  up 
passionately. 

"  I  must  see  you  again !"  he  cried.  "  I 
can't  go  away  until  I  do.  It  is  hard 
enough  to  leave  even  then.  I  won't  ask 
you  to  come  away  from  your  father's 
house  to  meet  me,  but  you  could  be  here, 
couldn't  you?" 


240  Harper's  Novelettes 

"When  shall  I  come?"  she  asked,  sim- 

ply- 

"  The  train  leaves  to-morrow  night  at 
twelve.  Could  you  be  here  at  eleven?" 

"  I  will  be  here  at  eleven,"  she  said ; 
and  then,  with  a  brave  attempt  to  smile, 
she  turned  away.  Just  at  that  moment 
General  Braxton  rounded  the  neighbor 
ing  corner  and  came  straight  towards 
them. 

In  the  hotel  across  the  way  the  loung 
ers  leaning  back  in  their  cane-bottomed 
chairs  straightened  up  with  keenest  in 
terest  and  delight.  Jule  Chinn  in  the 
Blue-grass  Club  up-stairs,  happening  to 
glance  out  of  the  window,  turned  his  box 
over,  and  remarked  that  if  any  gentle 
man  cared  to  bet,  he  would  lay  any  part 
of  $5000  on  Bill.  When  the  General  was 
directly  opposite  him  Colonel  Bill  grave 
ly  and  courteously  lifted  his  hat.  For 
an  instant  the  old  man  hesitated,  and 
then,  with  a  glance  at  his  daughter,  he 
lifted  his  own  hat  and  passed  through 
the  gate. 

"  Well,  I'll  be !"  cried  Jule,  with  a 

whistle  of  infinite  amazement.  "  Things 
is  changed  in  Kentucky!" 

"  That,"  said  Major  Cicero  Johnson, 
•who  had  exchanged  several  hundred  sub 
scriptions  to  his  paper  for  an  ever-de- 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       241 

creasing  pile  of  Jule's  blue  chips — "  that 
is  the  tribute  which  valor  pays  to  beauty. 
Their  pleasure  has  only  been  postponed. 
Colonel  Chinn,  you  have  overlooked  that 
small  wager  on  the  ace.  Thanks." 

Ten  minutes  later  Colonel  Bill  was 
galloping  out  to  the  race-track,  gayly 
singing  a  popular  love-song.  Suddenly 
something  occurred  to  him  and  he 
stopped,  reached  back  into  his  hip-pocket, 
and  drew  out  a  long  pistol.  He  threw  it 
as  far  as  he  could  into  a  neighboring 
brier-patch,  and  once  more  giving  rein 
to  his  horse,  began  to  sing  with  renewed 
enthusiasm. 

When  he  reached  the  track  he  called 
old  Elias  into  his  room,  and  they  re 
mained  together  for  a  long  time  in  whis 
pered  conference.  That  night  any  one 
who  happened  to  have  been  belated  on 
the  Versailles  'pike  might  have  passed 
Elias  jogging  along  on  his  horse,  looking 
very  important,  and  an  air  of  mystery 
enveloping  him  like  a  garment. 

It  was  far  into  the  night  when  he  re 
turned.  As  he  started  to  creep  up  the 
ladder  to  the  loft  above  his  young  mas 
ter's  room,  his  shoes  in  his  hand  so  as 
not  to  awaken  him,  the  Colonel,  who  had 
been  tossing  on  a  sleepless  bed  for  hours, 
called  out.  Elias,  who  evidently  regard- 

16        S.  L. 


242  Harper* s  Novelettes 

ed  himself  as  a  conspirator,  waited  until 
he  had  reached  the  loft,  and  then  whis 
pered  back,  "Hit's  all  right,  Marse  Bill," 
and  was  instantly  swallowed  up  in  the 
darkness. 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect  June 
nights  so  often  seen  in  Kentucky.  The 
full  moon  hung  in  a  cloudless  sky,  filling 
the  air  with  a  soft  white  radiance.  There 
was  not  a  movement  in  the  still,  warm 
atmosphere,  and  to  Colonel  Bill,  waiting 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  big  oak-tree 
near  the  General's  gate,  it  seemed  that 
all  nature  was  waiting  with  him.  The 
leaves  above  his  head,  the  gray  old 
church  steeple  beyond  the  house,  the 
long  stretch  of  deserted  streets— they  all 
wore  a  hushed,  expectant  look. 

It  was  several  minutes  past  the  ap 
pointed  hour,  and  Miss  Braxton  had  not 
come.  He  had  begun  to  fear  that  per 
haps  her  father,  suspecting  something, 
had  detained  her,  when  he  saw  her  fig 
ure,  a  white  outline  among  the  rose 
bushes,  far  up  the  walk.  As  she  drew 
near  he  stepped  out  from  the  shadows, 
and  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight. 

"  I  know  I  am  late,  but  I  was  talking 
with  father,"  she  said,  apologetically,  and 
the  brown  eyes  became  troubled.  "He 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       243 

was  very  restless  and  nervous  to-night, 
and  when  he  is  in  that  condition  he  says 
I  soothe  him."  They  had  slowly  walked 
towards  the  tree  as  she  was  speaking, 
and  when  she  had  finished  they  were 
completely  hidden  from  any  chance 
passer.  She  glanced  up,  and  even  in  the 
gloom  she  noticed  how  white  and  tense 
was  his  face. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  cried,  abruptly, 
"  if  I  go  away  from  Lexington  to-night 
it  will  only  be  to  return  in  a  day,  or  two 
days?  For  weeks  I  have  been  able  to 
think  of  nothing,  to  dream  of  nothing, 
except  you.  I  haven't  come  here  to 
night  to  say  good-bye  to  you,"  he  contin 
ued,  passionately,  "  because  I  cannot  say 
good-bye  to  you,  but  to  implore  you  to 
come  with  me — to  marry  me — to-night 
— now."  She  shrank  back.  "  I  have 
made  all  my  arrangements,"  he  contin 
ued,  feverishly.  "  I  have  a  cousin,  a 
minister,  living  in  Versailles.  Once  a 
month  he  preaches  in  a  little  church  on 
the  'pike  near  there.  I  sent  word  by 
Elias  last  night  for  him  to  meet  us  there 
to-night,  and  he  said  he  would.  Elias 
has  the  horses  under  the  trees  yonder; 
they  will  be  here  in  a  moment,  and  in  an 
hour  we  will  be  married.  Come!"  His 
arms  were  around  her,  and  while  he 


244  Harper's  Novelettes 

spoke  she  was  carried  away  by  the  rush 
of  his  passion,  and  yielded  to  it  with 
a  feeling  of  languorous  delight.  Then 
there  came  the  thought  of  the  lonely  old 
man  who  would  be  left  behind.  She 
slipped  gently  from  her  lover's  arms  arid 
looked  back  at  the  house  which  had  been 
her  home  for  so  many  years.  She  saw 
the  light  in  her  father's  room,  and  re 
called  how  she  went  there  when  she  was 
a  little  girl  to  say  her  prayers  at  his 
knee  and  kiss  him  good-night.  He  had 
always  been  so  kind  to  her,  so  willing  to 
sacrifice  himself  for  her  pleasure,  and  he 
was  so  old.  What  would  he  do  when 
she  had  gone  out  of  his  life?  No;  she 
could  not  desert  him.  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  "  I  cannot  leave 
father,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  cannot ;  I  must 
not."  They  had  moved  out  from  the 
shadow  of  the  tree  into  the  moonlight. 
He  had  taken  her  hand,  and  had  begun 
to  renew  his  appeals,  when  they  were 
both  startled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  gravelled  walk  and  the  General's 
voice  crying,  "  Sue !  Sue,  where  are 
you?"  At  the  same  moment  Elias  came 
up,  leading  two  horses.  The  Colonel  and 
Miss  Braxton  stood  just  as  they  were, 
too  surprised  to  move.  They  could  not 
escape  in  any  event,  for  almost  as  soon 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill      245 

as  the  words  reached  them  the  General 
came  into  view.  He  saw  them  at  once, 
and  it  Required  only  a  glance  at  the  ap 
proaching  horses  to  tell  him  everything. 
With  an  inarticulate  cry  of  rage,  his 
gray  hair  streaming  behind  him,  he 
rushed  wildly  back  to  the  house.  The 
Colonel  looked  after  him,  and  then  turn 
ed  to  Miss  Braxton. 

"He  has  gone  to  arm  himself,"  he 
said,  quietly.  "He  will  be  back  with 
your  brothers." 

The  girl  looked  up  in  his  face  and 
shivered.  Then  she  glanced  towards  the 
house,  where  lights  were  flashing  from 
room  to  room,  and  the  doors  were  being 
opened  and  shut,  and  she  wrung  her 
hands.  In  the  stillness  every  sound  could 
be  heard — the  rush  of  footsteps  down  the 
stairs,  the  fierce  commands,  the  creaking 
of  the  great  stable  door  in  the  rear  of 
the  house. 

''  They  are  getting  out  the  horses,"  she 
whispered. 

"Yeu,"  he  replied,  calmly.  "He 
thought  we  were  running  away."  There 
was  not  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  She  was 
reared  in  a  society  where  physical  bravery 
is  the  first  of  virtues,  and  even  in  that 
terrible  moment  she  could  not  help  feel 
ing  a  thrill  of  pride  as  she  looked  at  him. 


246  Harper's  Novelettes 

She  never  thought  of  asking  him  to  fly. 
She  could  hear  the  horses  as  they  were 
led  out  of  their  stalls  one  by  one,  their 
hoofs  echoing  sharply  on  the  stone  flag 
ging.  Her  excited  imagination  supplied 
all  the  details.  Now  they  were  putting 
on  the  bridles;  now  they  were  fastening 
the  saddles ;  they  were  mounted ;  the  gate 
was  being  opened;  in  another  moment 
they  would  sweep  down  on  them.  Then 
she  looked  at  her  lover  standing  there 
so  motionless,  waiting — for  what?  The 
thought  of  it  was  maddening. 

"Quick!  quick!"  she  cried,  wildly, 
catching  his  arm;  "I  will  go  with  you." 
Without  a  word  he  lifted  her  up  in  his 
arms  and  seated  her  on  one  of  the  horses. 
He  carefully  tested  the  saddle,  although 
the  hoofs  of  their  pursuers'  horses  were 
already  ringing  on  the  street  behind  the 
house.  Then  he  swung  himself  easily 
into  the  saddle,  and  was  hardly  there  be 
fore  the  General  and  his  two  sons  swept 
around  the  neighboring  corner,  not  fifty 
yards  away. 

"  Good-bye,  Elias,"  called  the  Colonel, 
cheerfully,  as  they  shot  out  into  the 
moonlit  street;  and  Elias's  "God  bless 
you  bofe,  Marse  Bill!"  came  to  them 
above  the  rush  of  the  horses. 

As   they   went   clattering  through   the 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       247 

quiet  streets  and  past  the  rows  of  dark 
ened  houses,  the  horses,  with  their  sinewy 
necks  straightened  out  speeding  so  swift 
ly  that  the  balmy  air  blew  a  soft  wind 
in  their  riders'  faces,  Colonel  Bill,  with 
a  slight  shade  of  disappointment  in  his 
voice,  said: 

"  I  guess  you  didn't  get  a  good  look  at 
the  horses,  or  you  would  have  recognized 
them.  That's  old  Beau  Brummel  you're 
on,  and  this  is  Queen  of  Sheba.  They're 
both  fit,  although  they  haven't  been  par 
ticularly  trained  for  these  free  -  for  -  all 
scrambles,  owners'  handicap,  ten  miles 
straightaway.  But  I  don't  believe 
there's  a  horse  in  Kentucky  can  catch 
us  to-night,"  he  concluded,  proudly  pat 
ting  the  neck  of  his  thoroughbred.  He 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke, 
and  noted  that  the  distance  between 
them  and  their  pursuers  was  constantly 
widening,  until,  turning  a  corner,  they 
could  neither  see  nor  hear  them. 

And  now  the  Colonel's  spirits  fairly 
bubbled  over.  He  was  a  superb  rider, 
and  swinging  carelessly  in  his  saddle,  his 
hands  hardly  touching  the  reins,  he  kept 
up  a  running  stream  of  jocular  com 
ment. 

"It  looks  to  me  like  the  old  gentle 
man's  going  to  be  distanced,"  he  cried, 


248  Harper's  Novelettes 

with  a  chuckleo  "  He  can't  say  a  word, 
though,  for  he  made  the  conditions  of 
this  race.  The  start  was  a  trifle  strag 
gling,  as  Jack  Galloway  told  me  once 
when  he  left  seven  horses  at  the  post  in 
a  field  of  ten,  and  perhaps  the  Beau  and 
the  Queen  didn't  have  the  worst  of  it." 

In  every  possible  way  he  sought  to  di 
vert  his  companion's  mind.  Once  or 
twice  she  delighted  him  by  faintly  smil 
ing  a  response  to  his  speeches.  They  had 
passed  the  last  of  the  straggling  houses, 
and  the  turnpike  stretched  before  them, 
a  white  ribbon  winding  through  the 
green  meadow-land.  They  had  to  wait 
while  a  sleepy  toll-gate-keeper  lifted  his 
wooden  bar,  and  straining  their  ears, 
they  could  just  catch  the  faint,  far-away 
sound  of  galloping  horses. 

"  In  another  hour,"  he  cried,  pressing 
her  hand,  and  once  more  they  were  off. 
A  mile  farther  on  they  stopped  again. 
Before  them  was  a  narrow  lane  debauch 
ing  from  the  turnpike. 

"  That  lane,"  he  said,  reflective^, 
"would  save  us  a  good  two  miles,  for 
the  'pike  makes  a  big  bend  here.  Elias 
told  me  that  he  heard  it  was  closed  up, 
and  we  might  get  in  there  and  not  be 
able  to  get  out.  We  can't  afford  to  take 
the  chance,"  he  concluded,  thoughtfully, 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Eill       249 

and  they  continued  on.  their  journey. 
For  some  time  neither  spoke.  As  they 
were  about  to  enter  the  wood  through 
which  the  road  passed  they  stopped  to 
breathe  their  horses. 

"  I  don't  hear  them,"  said  the  girl. 
Then  she  added,  joyfully,  "Perhaps  they 
have  turned  back." 

He  listened  attentively.  "  Perhaps  they 
have,"  he  said,  at  last. 

As  they  rode  forward  more  than  once 
an  anxious  expression  passed  over  his 
face,  although  his  conversation  was  as 
cheerful  as  ever.  Miss  Braxton,  from 
whose  mind  a  great  weight  had  been  lift 
ed,  laughed  and  chatted  as  she  had  not 
done  since  the  journey  began. 

They  had  passed  through  the  wood  and 
were  out  in  the  open  country  again.  As 
they  galloped  on,  only  the  distant  bark 
ing  of  a  watch-dog  guarding  some  lonely 
farm-house,  or  the  premature  crowing  of 
a  barn  fowl,  deceived  by  the  brilliancy 
of  the  moonlight  into  thinking  that  day 
had  come,  broke  the  absolute  silence. 
They  might  have  been  the  one  woman 
and  the  one  man  in  a  new  world,  so  pro 
found  was  their  isolation. 

"  Do  you  see  that  group  of  trees  on  the 
hill  there  just  ahead  of  us,"  he  asked, 
carelessly,  as  the  horses  slowed  to  a  can- 


250  Harper's  Novelettes 

ter.  "Well,  just  the  other  side  of  those 
trees  the  lane  we  passed  joins  the  'piko 
again.  Now  it  is  possible  that  instead  of 
your  amiable  relatives  going  home,  they 
may  have  taken  to  the  lane.  If  it  hasn't 
been  closed,  they  may  be  waiting  there 
to  welcome  us."  For  a  moment  the  girl 
was  deceived  by  the  lightness  of  his  man 
ner;  and  then,  as  she  realized  what  such 
a  situation  meant,  she  grew  white  to  the 
lips.  "  The  chances  are,"  he  continued, 
cheerfully,  "  that  they  won't  be  there, 
but  we  had  just  as  well  be  prepared.  If 
they  are  there  we  must  approach  them 
just  as  if  we  were  going  to  talk  to  them, 
slowing  up  almost  to  a  walk.  They  will 
be  on  my  side,  and  I  will  keep  in  the 
middle  of  the  'pike.  You  remain  as  close 
to  the  fence  as  you  can.  When  we  get 
opposite  them  I'll  yell,  '  Now !'  You  can 
give  your  horse  his  head,  and  before  they 
know  what's  happened  we  will  be  a  hun 
dred  yards  away.  All  my  horses  have 
been  trained  to  get  away  from  the  post, 
and  these  two  are  the  quickest  breakers 
on  the  Western  Circuit.  Now  let's  go 
over  the  plan  again."  And  the  Colonel 
carefully  repeated  what  he  had  said,  il 
lustrating  it  as  he  went  along.  Yes,  she 
understood  him.  It  was  very  simple. 
How  could  she  forget  it?  As  she  told 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill      251 

him  this  her  frightened  eyes  never  left 
his  face,  and  she  followed  his  movements 
with  such  a  look  of  pain  that  he  swore 
at  her  father,  under  his  breath,  with  a 
vigor  which  did  full  justice  to  the  occa 
sion. 

A  few  minutes'  ride  brought  them  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  and  they  both  looked 
eagerly  before  them.  A  furlong  away, 
standing  perfectly  still  in  the  middle  of 
the  lane,  their  horses'  heads  facing  the 
turnpike,  were  three  mounted  men.  It 
required  no  second  glance  to  identify  the 
watchers.  Colonel  Bill's  eyes  blazed,  and 
his  right  hand  went  back  instinctively 
to  his  empty  pistol-pocket.  He  regained 
his  composure  in  a  moment.  "  Go  very 
slow,"  he  whispered,  "  and  don't  make  a 
move  till  I  shout.  Keep  as  far  over  to 
your  side  as  you  can."  They  approached 
the  three  grim  watchers,  their  horses'  al 
most  eased  to  a  walk.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  on  either  side.  When  they  had 
reached  a  point  almost  directly  opposite 
their  pursuers,  Colonel  Bill  made  a  pre 
tence  of  pulling  up  his  horse,  only  to 
catch  the  reins  in  a  firmer  grip,  and  then, 
with  a  sudden  dig  of  the  spurs,  he  yelled, 
"  Now !"  and  his  horse  sprang  forward 
like  a  frightened  deer.  At  the  same  in 
stant  Miss  Braxton  deliberately  swung 


252  Harper's  Novelettes 

her  horse  across  the  road  and  behind  his. 
Then  there  came  the  sharp  report  of  a 
pistol,  followed  by  the  rush  of  the  pursu 
ing  horses.  But  high  above  all  other 
sounds  rose  General  Braxton's  agonized 
voice:  "My  God,  don't  shoot!  Don't 
shoot!"  Before  the  Colonel  could  turn 
in  his  saddle  Miss  Braxton  was  beside 
him. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  where  you 
were  ?"  he  cried,  sharply,  the  sense  of  her 
peril  setting  his  nerves  on  edge.  As  he 
realized  that  it  was  for  his  sake  she  had 
come  between  him  and  danger,  his  eyes 
grew  moist.  "Suppose  you  had  been 
hurt  ?"  he  added,  reproachfully.  She  did 
not  reply,  and  they  rode  on  at  full  speed. 
They  had  once  more  left  their  pursuers 
behind;  but  as  the  church  was  now  only 
a  few  miles  away,  and  they  needed  every 
spare  moment  there,  they  urged  their 
horses  to  renewed  effort. 

"  There  is  the  church  now,  and  it's 
lighted  up,"  cried  the  Colonel,  joyfully, 
as  they  dashed  around  a  bend  in  the 
road,  pointing  to  a  little  one-story  build 
ing  tucked  away  amid  trees  and  under 
brush  beside  the  turnpike.  In  the  door 
way  the  minister  stood  waiting  for  them 
• — a  tall  young  man  whose  ruddy  face, 
broad  shoulders,  and  humorous  blue  eyes 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       253 

suggested  the  relationship  the  Colonel 
had  mentioned.  As  they  pulled  up,  the 
young  minister  came  forward  and  was 
introduced  by  the  Colonel  as  "My  cous 
in,  Jim  Bradley."  While  they  were 
both  assisting  Miss  Braxton  to  dismount 
and  fastening  the  horses,  the  Colonel,  in 
a  few  words,  told  of  the  pursuit  and  of 
the  necessity  of  haste.  Mr.  Bradley  led 
the  way  into  the  church,  the  lovers  fol 
lowing  arm  in  arm.  It  was  a  plain 
whitewashed  little  room,  with  wooden 
benches  for  the  worshippers,  and  a  nar 
row  aisle  leading  up  to  the  platform, 
where  stood  the  preacher's  pulpit.  Half 
a  dozen  lamps  with  bright  tin  reflectors 
behind  them,  like  halos,  were  fastened 
to  brackets  high  up  on  the  walls.  Tha 
young  couple  stopped  when  they  reached 
the  platform,  and  at  Mr.  Bradley's  re 
quest  joined  their  hands.  He  had  open 
ed  the  prayer-book  at  the  marriage  ser 
vice,  and  was  beginning  to  read  it,  when 
he  gave  a  start.  Far  away  down  the 
turnpike,  faint  but  unmistakable  —  now 
dying  away  into  a  mere  murmur,  now 
rising  clear  and  bold — came  the  sound 
of  galloping  horses.  The  Colonel  felt  the 
girl's  hand  cold  in  his,  and  he  whispered 
a  word  of  encouragement.  Mr.  Bradley 
hurried  on  with  the  ceremony.  The  cen- 


254  Harper's  Novelettes 

turies-old  questions,  so  often  asked  be 
neath  splendid  domes  before  fashionable 
assemblages  to  the  accompaniment  of 
triumphant  music,  were  never  answered 
with  more  truth  and  fervor  than  in  that 
little  roadside  church,  with  no  one  to 
hear  them  but  the  listening  trees  and 
the  heart  of  the  night  wind. 

"Wilt  thou  have  this  woman  to  thy 
wedded  wife?  Wilt  thou  love  her,  com 
fort  her,  honor,  and  keep  her  in  sickness 
and  in  health,  and  forsaking  all  others, 
keep  thee  only  unto  her,  so  long  as  ye 
both  shall  live?" 

How  he  pressed  the  trembling  little 
hand  in  his,  and  how  devotedly  he  an 
swered,  "  I  will." 

"  Wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  thy  wed 
ded  husband?  Wilt  thou  obey  him  and 
serve  him,  love,  honor,  and  keep  him  in 
sickness  and  in  health,  and  forsaking  all 
others,  keep  thee  only  unto  him,  so  long 
as  ye  both  shall  live?" 

The  downcast  eyes  were  covered  with 
the  drooping  lids,  and  the  voice  was  faint 
and  low,  but  what  a  world  of  love  was  in 
the  simple,  "  I  will." 

As  the  young  minister,  very  solemn 
and  dignified  now,  paused  for  each  reply, 
there  came  ever  nearer  and  ever  louder 
the  ringing  of  the  hoof-beats.  Once  he 


Courtship  of  Colonel  Bill       255 

stole  a  hurried  glance  through  the  win 
dow  which  gave  on  the  turnpike.  Not 
half  a  mile  away,  their  figures  black 
against  the  sky  -  line,  fiercely  lashing 
their  tired  horses  to  fresh  effort,  were 
three  desperate  riders.  The  couple  be 
fore  him  did  not  raise  their  eyes. 

And  now  the  concluding  words  of  the 
service  had  been  reached,  and  the  minis 
ter  had  begun,  "  Those  whom  God  hath 
joined  together — "  when  the  rest  of  the 
sentence  was  lost  in  the  old  General's 
angry  shout,  as  he  flung  himself  from 
his  horse,  and,  with  his  sons  at  his  heels, 
rushed  into  the  church.  At  the  thresh 
old  they  stopped  with  blanched  faces, 
for,  as  they  entered,  the  girl,  uttering  a 
faint  cry,  her  face  whiter  than  her  gown, 
down  which  a  little  stream  of  blood  was 
trickling,  reeled  and  tottered,  and  fell 
senseless  into  her  husband's  arms. 

A  few  days  later  Major  Johnson's 
Lexington  Chronicle,  under  the  heading 
"Jarvis  —  Braxton,"  contained  the  fol 
lowing  : 

"  Colonel  William  Jarvis,  the  distin 
guished  and  genial  young  turfman,  and 
Miss  Susan  Braxton,  the  beautiful  and 
accomplished  daughter  of  General  Thom 
as  Anderson  Braxton,  the  hero  of  two 


256  Harper's  Novelettes 

wars,  whose  name  is  a  household  word 
wherever  valor  is  honored  and  eloquence 
is  admired,  were  united  in  marriage 
Monday  night.  With  the  romance  of 
youth,  the  young  couple  determined  to 
avoid  the  conventionalities  of  society, 
and  only  the  bride's  father  and  two 
brothers  were  present.  Immediately  pre 
ceding  the  ceremony  the  lovely  bride  was 
accidentally  injured  by  the  premature 
explosion  of  a  fire-arm,  but  her  hosts  of 
friends  will  be  delighted  to  learn  that 
the  mishap  was  not  of  a  serious  charac 
ter.  The  young  couple  are  now  the 
guests  of  General  Braxton  at  the  historic 
Elms.  We  are  informed,  however,  that 
Colonel  Jarvis  contemplates  retiring  from 
the  turf  and  purchasing  a  stock-farm 
near  Lexington.  As  a  souvenir  of  his 
marriage  he  has  promised  his  distin 
guished  father-in-law  the  first  three  good 
horses  he  raises." 


The   Balance    of  Power 

BY  MAURICE  THOMPSON 

"  T  DON'T  hesitate  to  say  to  you  that 
I  regard  him  as  but  a  small  re 
move  in  nature  from  absolute 
trash,  Phyllis — absolute  trash!  His  char 
acter  may  be  good — doubtless  it  is;  but 
he  is  not  of  good  family,  and  he  shows  it. 
What  is  he  but  a  mountain  cracker? 
There  is  no  middle  ground;  trash  is 
trash!" 

Colonel  Mobley  Sommerton  spoke  in  a 
rich  bass  voice,  slowly  rolling  his  words. 
The  bagging  of  his  trousers  at  the  knees 
made  his  straight  legs  appear  bent,  as  if 
for  a  jump  at  something,  while  his 
daughter  Phyllis  looked  at  him  search- 
ingly,  but  not  in  the  least  impatiently, 
her  fine  gray  eyes  wide  open,  and  her 
face,  with  its  delicately  blooming  cheeks, 
its  peach-petal  lips,  and  its  saucy  little 
nose,  all  attention  and  half-indignant 
surprise. 

"  Of  course,"  the  Colonel  went  on, 
17  s.  L. 


258  Harper's  Novelettes 

with  a  conciliatory  touch  in  his  words, 
when  he  had  waited  some  time  for  his 
daughter  to  speak  and  she  spoke  not — 
"  of  course  you  do  not  care  a  straw  for 
him,  Phyllis ;  I  know  that.  The  daughter 
of  a  Sommerton  couldn't  care  for  such 
a—" 

"  I  don't  mind  saying  to  you  that  I  do 
care  for  him,  and  that  I  love  him,  and 
want  to  marry  him,"  broke  in  Phyllis, 
with  tremulous  vehemence,  tears  gushing 
from  her  eyes  at  the  same  time;  and  a 
depth  of  touching  pathos  seemed  to  open 
behind  her  words,  albeit  they  rang  like 
so  many  notes  of  rank  boldness  in  the 
old  man's  ears. 

"Phyllis!"  he  exclaimed;  then  ho 
stooped  a  little,  his  trousers  bagging  still 
more,  and  he  stood  in  an  attitude  almost 
stagy,  a  flare  of  choleric  surprise  leap 
ing  into  his  face.  "Phyllis  Sommerton, 
what  do  you  mean?  Are  you  crazy? 
You  say  that  to  me?" 

The  girl — she  was  just  eighteen — faced 
her  father  with  a  look  at  once  tearfully 
saucy  and  lovingly  firm.  The  sauciness, 
however,  was  superficial  and  physical, 
not  in  any  degree  a  part  of  her  mental 
mood.  She  could  not,  had  she  tried,  have 
been  the  least  bit  wilful  or  impertinent 
with  her  father,  who  had  always  been  a 


The  Balance  of  Power         259 

model  of  tenderness.  Besides,  a  girl 
never  lived  who  loved  a  parent  more  un 
reservedly  than  Phyllis  loved  Colonel 
Sommerton. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  miss  I  go  to  your 
room!  Step  lively  at  that,  and  let  me 
have  no  more  of  this  nonsense*  Go!  I 
command  you!" 

The  stamp  with  which  the  Colonel's 
rather  substantial  boot  just  then  shook 
the  floor  seemed  to  generate  some  cur 
rent  of  force  sufficient  to  whirl  Phyllis 
about  and  send  her  up-stairs  in  an  old- 
fashioned  fit  of  hysteria.  She  was  cry 
ing  and  talking  and  running  all  at  the 
same  time,  her  voice  made  liquid  like  a 
bird's,  and  yet  jangling  with  its  mixed 
emotions.  Down  fell  her  wavy,  long, 
brown  hair  almost  to  her  feet,  one 
rich  strand  trailing  over  the  rail  as  she 
mounted  the  steps,  while  the  rustling  of 
her  muslin  dress  told  off  the  springy  mo 
tion  of  her  limbs  till  she  disappeared  in 
the  gilt-papered  gloom  aloft,  where  the 
windowless  hall  turned  at  right  angles 
with  the  stairway. 

Colonel  Sommerton  was  smiling  grim 
ly  by  this  time,  and  his  iron-gray  mus 
tache  quivered  humorously. 

"  She's  a  little  brick,"  he  muttered;  "  a 
chip  off  the  old  log — by  zounds,  she  is! 


260  Harper's  Novelettes 

She  means  business.  Got  the  bit  in  her 
teeth,  and  fairly  splitting  the  air!"  He 
chuckled  raucously.  "Let  her  go;  she'll 
soon  tire  out." 

Sommerton  Place,  a  picturesque  old 
mansion,  as  mansions  have  always  gone 
in  north  Georgia,  stood  in  a  grove  of 
oaks  on  a  hill-top  overlooking  a  little 
mountain  town,  beyond  which  uprose  a 
crescent  of  blue  peaks  against  a  dreamy 
summer  sky.  Behind  the  house  a  broad 
plantation  rolled  its  billow-like  ridges  of 
corn  and  cotton. 

The  Colonel  went  out  on  the  veranda 
and  lit  a  cigar,  after  breaking  two  or 
three  matches  that  he  nervously  scratch 
ed  on  a  column. 

This  was  the  first  quarrel  that  he  had 
ever  had  with  Phyllis. 

Mrs.  Sommerton  had  died  when  Phyl 
lis  was  twelve  years  old,  leaving  the  little 
girl  to  be  brought  up  in  a  boarding- 
school  in  Atlanta.  The  widowed  man 
did  not  marry  again,  and  when  his 
daughter  came  home,  six  months  before 
the  opening  of  our  story,  it  was  natural 
that  he  should  see  nothing  but  loveliness 
in  the  fair,  bright,  only  child  of  his  hap 
py  wedded  life,  now  ended  forever. 

The  reader  must  have  taken  for  grant 
ed  that  the  person  under  discussion  in 


The  Balance  of  Power         261 

the  conversation  touched  upon  at  the 
outset  of  this  writing  was  a  young  man; 
but  Tom  Bannister  stood  for  more  than 
the  sum  of  the  average  young  man's 
values.  He  was  what  in  our  republic  is 
recognized  as  a  promising  fellow,  bright, 
magnetic,  shifty,  well  forward  in  the 
neologies  of  society,  business,  and  poli 
tics,  a  born  leader  in  a  small  way,  and  as 
ambitious  as  poverty  and  a  brimming 
self-esteem  could  make  him.  From  his 
humble  law-office  window  he  had  seen 
Phyllis  pass  along  the  street  in  the  old 
Sommertori  carriage,  and  had  fallen  in 
love  as  promptly  as  possible  with  her 
plump,  lissome  form  and  pretty  face. 

He  sought  her  acquaintance,  avoided 
with  cleverness  a  number  of  annoying 
barriers,  assaulted  her  heart,  and  won  it, 
all  of  which  stood  as  mere  play  when 
compared  with  climbing  over  the  pride 
and  prejudice  of  Colonel  Sommerton. 
For  Bannister  was  nobody  in  a  social 
way,  as  viewed  from  the  lofty  top  of  the 
hill  at  Sommerton  Place;  indeed,  all  of 
his  kinspeople  were  mountaineers,  hon 
est,  it  is  true,  but  decidedly  woodsy,  who 
tilled  stony  acres  in  a  pocket  beyond  the 
first  blue  ridge  yonder.  His  education 
seemed  good,  but  it  had  been  snatched 
from  the  books  by  force,  with  the  sav- 


262  Harper's  Novelettes 

age  certainty  of  grip  which  belongs  to 
genius. 

Colonel  Sommerton,  having  unbound 
ed  confidence  in  Phyllis's  aristocratic 
breeding,  would  not  open  his  eyes  to  the 
attitude  of  the  young  people  until  sud 
denly  it  came  into  his  head  that  possibly 
the  almost  briefless  plebeian  lawyer  had 
ulterior  designs  while  climbing  the  hill, 
as  he  was  doing  noticeably  often,  from 
town  to  Sommerton  Place.  But  when 
this  thought  arrived  the  Colonel  was 
prompt  to  act.  He  called  up  the  subject 
at  once,  and  we  have  seen  the  close  of 
his  interview  with  Phyllis. 

Now  he  stood  on  the  veranda  and 
puffed  his  cigar  with  quick,  short 
draughts,  as  a  man  does  who  falters  be 
tween  two  horns  of  a  dilemma.  ITe 
turned  his  head  to  one  side  as  if  listen 
ing  to  his  own  thoughts,  his  tall,  pointed 
collar  meantime  fitting  snugly  in  a  crease 
of  his  furrowed  jaw. 

At  this  moment  the  shambling,  yet  in 
a  way  facile,  footsteps  of  Barnaby,  tho 
sporadic  freedman  of  the  household,  were 
soothing.  Colonel  Sommerton  turned 
his  eyes  on  the  comer  inquiringly,  almost 
eagerly. 

"  Well,  Barn,  you're  back,"  he  said. 

"Yah,   sah;    I'se   had   er    confab    wid 


The  Balance  of  Power         263 

'em,"  remarked  the  negro,  seating  him 
self  on  the  top  step  of  the  veranda,  and 
mopping  his  coal-black  face  with  a  red 
cotton  handkerchief;  "an'  hit  do  beat 
all.  Niggahs  is  mos'ly  eejits,  spacially 
w'en  yo'  wants  'em  to  hab  some  sense." 

He  was  a  huge,  ill-shapen,  muscular 
fellow,  old  but  still  vigorous,  and  in  his 
small  black  eyes  twinkled  an  unsounded 
depth  of  shrewdness.  He  had  been  the 
Colonel's  slave  from  his  young  manhood 
to  the  close  of  the  war ;  since  then  he  had 
hung  around  Ellijay  what  time  he  was 
not  sponging  a  livelihood  from  Sommer- 
ton  Place  under  color  of  doing  various 
light  turns  in  the  vegetable  garden,  and 
of  attending  to  his  quondam  master's 
horses. 

Barnaby  was  a  great  banjoist,  a 
charming  song-singer,  and  a  leader  of 
the  negroes  around  about.  Lately  he 
was  gaining  some  reputation  as  a  polit 
ical  boss. 

There  was  but  one  political  party  in 
the  county  (for  the  colored  people  were 
so  few  that  they  could  not  be  called  a 
party),  and  the  only  struggle  for  office 
came  in  the  pursuit  of  a  nomination, 
which  was  always  equivalent  to  election. 
Candidates  were  chosen  at  a  convention 
or  mass-meeting  of  the  whites  and  the 


264  Harper's  Novelettes 

only  figure  that  the  blacks  were  able  to 
cut  in  the  matter  was  by  reason  of  a 
pretended,  rather  than  a  real,  prejudice 
against  them  which  was  used  by  the  can 
didates  (who  are  always  white  men)  to 
further  their  electioneering  schemes,  as 
will  presently  appear. 

"  Hit  do  beat  all,"  Barnaby  repeated, 
shaking  his  heavy  head  reflectively,  and 
making  a  grimace  both  comical  and  hid 
eous.  "Dat  young  man  desput  sma't 
and  cunnin',  sho's  yo'  bo'n  he  is.  He 
done  been  foolin'  wid  dem  niggahs 
a'ready." 

The  reader  may  as  well  be  told  at  once 
that  if  a  candidate  could  by  any  means 
make  the  negroes  support  his  opponent 
for  the  nomination  it  was  the  best  card 
he  could  possibly  play;  or,  if  he  could 
not  quite  do  this,  but  make  it  appear 
that  the  other  fellow  was  not  unpopular 
in  colored  circles,  it  served  nearly  the 
same  turn. 

Phyllis,  when  she  ran  crying  up-stairs 
after  the  conversation  with  her  father, 
went  to  her  room,  and  fell  into  a  chair 
by  the  window.  So  it  chanced  that  she 
overheard  the  conference  between  Colo 
nel  Sommerton  and  Barnaby,  and  long 
after  it  was  ended  she  still  sat  there 
leaning  on  the  window-sill.  Her  eyes 


The  Balance  of  Power         265 

showed  a  trifle  of  irritation,  but  the  tears 
were  all  gone. 

"  Why  didn't  Tom  tell  me  that  he  was 
going  to  run  against  my  father?"  she 
inquired  of  herself  over  and  over.  "I 
think  he  might  have  trusted  me,  so  I  do. 
It's  mean  of  him.  And  if  he  should 
beat  papa!  Papa  could  bear  that." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  walked 
across  the  room,  stopping  on  the  way  to 
rub  her  apple-bloom  cheeks  before  a  look 
ing-glass.  Vaguely  enough,  but  insist 
ently,  the  outline  of  a  political  plot  glim 
mered  in  her  consciousness  and  troubled 
her  understanding.  Plainly  her  father 
and  Tom  Bannister  were  rival  candi 
dates,  and  just  as  plainly  each  was 
scheming  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
negroes  were  supporting  his  opponent; 
but  the  girl's  little  head  could  not  gather 
up  and  comprehend  all  that  such  a  con 
dition  of  things  meant.  She  supposed 
that  a  sort  of  disgrace  would  attach  to 
defeat,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  and 
poised  her  winsome  body  melodramatical 
ly  when  she  asked  herself  which  she 
would  rather  the  defeat  would  fall  upon, 
her  father  or  Tom.  She  leaned  out  of 
the  window  and  saw  Colonel  Sommerton 
walking  down  the  road  towards  town, 
with  his  cigar  elevated  at  an  acute  angle 


266  Harper's  Novelettes 

with  his  nose,  his  hat  pulled  well  down 
in  front,  by  which  she  knew  that  he  was 
still  excited.  Days  went  by,  as  days  will 
in  any  state  of  affairs,  with  just  such 
faultless  weather  as  August  engenders 
amid  the  cool  hills  of  the  old  Cherokee 
country;  and  Phyllis  noted,  by  an  indi 
rect  attention  to  what  she  had  never  be 
fore  been  interested  in,  that  Colonel 
Sommerton  was  growing  strangely  con 
fidential  and  familiar  with  Barnaby. 
She  had  a  distinct  but  remote  impres 
sion  that  her  father  had  hitherto  never, 
at  least  never  openly,  shown  such  irenic 
solicitude  in  that  direction,  and  she  knew 
that  his  sudden  peace-making  with  the 
old  negro  meant  ill  to  her  lover.  She 
pondered  the  matter  with  such  discrimi 
nation  and  logic  as  her  clever  little  brain 
could  compass;  and  at  last  she  one  even 
ing  called  Barnaby  to  come  into  the  gar 
den  with  his  banjo. 

The  sun  was  down,  and  the  half -grown 
moon  swung  yellow  and  clear  against 
the  violet  arch  of  mid-heaven.  Through 
the  sheen  a  softened  outline  of  the  town 
wavered  fantastically. 

Phyllis  sat  on  a  great  fragment  of 
limestone,  which,  embossed  with  curious 
fossils,  formed  the  immovable  centre 
piece  of  the  garden. 


The  Balance  of  Power         267 

Barnaby,  at  a  respectful  distance, 
crumpled  herself  satyr  -  like  on  the 
ground,  with  his  banjo  across  his  knee, 
and  gazed  expectantly  aslant  at  the  girl's 
sweet  face. 

"  Now  play  me  my  father's  favorite 
song,"  she  said. 

They  heard  Mrs.  Wren,  the  house 
keeper,  opening  the  windows  in  the  up 
per  rooms  of  the  mansion  to  let  in  the 
night  air,  which  was  stirring  over  the 
valley  with  a  delicious  mountain  chill 
on  its  wings.  All  around  in  the  trees 
and  shrubbery  the  katydids  were  rasping 
away  in  immelodious  statement  and  de 
nial  of  the  ancient  accusation. 

Barnaby  demurred.  He  did  not  im 
agine,  so  at  least  he  said,  that  Miss 
Phyllis  would  be  pleased  with  the  bal 
lad  that  recently  had  been  the  Colo 
nel's  chief  musical  delight;  but  he  must 
obey  the  young  lady,  and  so,  after  some 
throat  -  clearing  and  string  -  tuning,  he 
proceeded : 

"I'd   rudder    be   er    niggah 

Dan   ter  be   er  whi'   man, 
Dough    the  whi'   man   considdah 

He  se'f  biggah ; 
But  ef  yo'  mus'  be  white,  w'y  be  hones'  ef 

yo'  can, 
An    ac'  es  much  es  poss'ble  like  er 


268  Harper's  Novelettes 

"De   colah   ob  yo'   skin 

Hit  don't  constertoot  no  sin, 
An'  yo'  fambly  ain't  er- 

Cuttin'   any   figgah; 
Min'  w'at  yo's   er-doin',   an'   do   de  bes'  yo' 

kin, 
An'  ac'  es  much  es  poss'ble  like  er  niggah!" 

The  tune  of  this  song  was  melody  it 
self,  brimming  with  that  unkempt,  sar 
castic  humor  which  always  strikes  as  if 
obliquely,  and  with  a  flurry  of  tipsy  fun, 
into  one's  ears. 

When  the  performance  was  ended,  and 
the  final  tinkle  of  the  rollicking  banjo 
accompaniment  died  away  down  the  slope 
of  Sommerton  Hill,  Phyllis  put  her 
plump  chin  in  her  hands  and,  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  looked  steadily  at 
Barnaby  for  a  while. 

"  Barn,"  she  said,  "  is  my  father  going 
to  get  the  colored  people  to  indorse  Mr. 
Tom  Bannister?" 

"Yes,  ma'm,"  replied  the  old  negro; 
and  then  he  caught  his  breath  and  check 
ed  himself  in  confusion.  "  Da-da-dat  is, 
er-I  spec'  so-er-I  dun'no',  ma'm,"  he  stam 
mered.  "  Fo'  de  Lor'  I's— 

Phyllis  interrupted  him  with  an  im 
patient  laugh,  but  said  no  more.  In  due 
time  Barnaby  sang  her  some  other  dit 
ties,  and  then  she  went  into  the  house. 


The  Balance  of  Power         269 

She  gave  the  negro  a  large  coin,  and  on 
the  veranda  steps  she  called  back  to  him, 
"Good-night,  Uncle  Barn,"  in  a  voice 
that  made  him  shake  his  head  and  mut 
ter: 

"De  bressed  chile!  De  bressed  chile!" 
And  yet  he  was  aware  that  she  had  out 
witted  him  and  gained  his  secret.  He 
knew  how  matters  stood  between  the 
young  lady  and  Tom  Bannister,  and 
there  arose  in  his  mind  a  vivid  sense  of 
the  danger  that  might  result  to  his  own 
and  Colonel  Sommerton's  plans  from  a 
disclosure  of  this  one  vital  detail.  Would 
Phyllis  tell  her  lover?  Barnaby  shook 
his  head  in  a  dubious  way. 

"Gals  is  pow'ful  onsartin  so  dey  is," 
he  muttered.  "Dey  tells  der  sweet 
hearts  mos'ly  all  what  dey  knows,  spa- 
cially  secrets.  Spec'  de  ole  boss  an'  he 
plan  done  gone  up  de  chimbly  er-kally- 
hootin'  fo'  good." 

Then  the  old  scamp  began  to  turn  over 
in  his  brain  a  scheme  which  seemed  to 
offer  him  a  fair  way  of  approaching  Mr. 
Tom  Bannister's  pocket  and  the  porte- 
monnaie  of  Phyllis  as  well.  He  chuckled 
atrociously  as  a  pretty  comprehensive 
view  of  "practical  politics"  opened  it 
self  to  him. 

Tom   Bannister   had   not   been   to   see 


270  Harper's  Novelettes 

Phyllis  since  her  father  had  delivered 
his  opinion  to  her  touching  the  intrinsic 
merits  of  that  young  man,  and  she  felt 
uneasy. 

Colonel  Sommerton,  though  notably 
eccentric,  could  be  depended  upon  for 
outright  dealing  in  general;  still  Phyllis 
had  a  pretty  substantial  belief  that  in 
politics  success  lay  largely  on  the  side  of 
the  trickster.  For  many  years  the  Colo 
nel  had  been  in  the  Legislature.  No 
man  had  been  able  to  beat  him  for  the 
nomination.  She  had  often  heard  him 
tell  how  he  laid  out  his  antagonists  by 
taking  excellent  and  popular  short  turns 
on  them,  and  it  was  plain  to  her  mind 
now  that  he  was  weaving  a  snare  for 
Tom  Bannister. 

She  thought  of  Tom's  running  for 
office  against  her  father  as  something 
prodigiously  strange.  Certainly  it  was 
a  bold  and  daring  piece  of  youthful  au 
dacity  for  him  to  be  guilty  of.  He,  a 
young  sprig  of  the  law,  with  his  brown 
mustache  not  yet  grown,  setting  him 
self  up  to  beat  Colonel  Mobley  Sommer 
ton!  Phyllis  blushed  whenever  she 
thought  of  it;  but  the  Colonel  had  never 
once  mentioned  Tom's  candidacy  to  her. 

The  convention  was  approaching,  and 
day  by  day  signs  of  popular  interest  in  it 


The  Balance  of  Power         271 

increased  as  the  time  shortened.  Colonel 
Sommerton  was  preparing-  a  speech  for 
the  occasion.  The  manuscript  of  it  lay 
on  the  desk  in  his  library. 

About  this  time — it  was  near  Septem 
ber  1st  and  the  watermelons  and  can 
taloupes  were  in  their  glory—the  Colo 
nel  was  called  away  to  a  distant  town 
for  a  few  days.  In  his  absence  Tom 
Bannister  chanced  to  visit  Sommerton 
Place.  Of  course  Phyllis  was  not  expect 
ing  him;  indeed,  she  told  him  that  he1 
ought  not  to  have  come ;  but  Tom  thought 
differently  in  a  very  persuasive  way.  The 
melons  were  good,  the  library  delightful 
ly  cool,  and  conversation  caught  the  fra 
grance  of  innocent  albeit  stolen  pleas 


ure. 


Tom  Bannister  was  unquestionably 
a  handsome  young  fellow,  carrying  a 
hearty,  whole  -  souled  expression  in  his 
open,  almost  rosy  face.  His  large  brown 
eyes,  curly  brown  hair,  silken  young 
mustache,  and  firmly  set  mouth  and 
chin  well  matched  his  stalwart,  symmet 
rical  form.  He  was  not  only  handsome, 
he  was  brilliant  in  a  way,  and  his  mem 
ory  was  something  prodigious.  Unques 
tionably  he  would  rise  rapidly. 

"I  am  going  to  beat  your  father  for 
the  nomination,"  he  remarked,  midmost 


272  Harper's  Novelettes 

the  discussion  of  their  melons,  speak 
ing  in  a  tone  of  the  most  absolute  con 
fidence. 

"  Tom,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  mustn't 
do  it!" 

"Why,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  felt  a  sud 
den  fright.  His  eyes  fell  before  her  in 
tense,  searching  gaze. 

"It  would  be  dreadful,"  she  presently 
managed  to  say.  "Papa  couldn't  bear 
it." 

"It  will  ruin  me  forever  if  I  let  him 
beat  me.  I  shall  have  to  go  away  from 
here."  It  was  now  his  turn  to  become 
intense. 

"  I  don't  see  what  makes  men  think  so 
much  of  office,"  she  complained,  evasive 
ly.  "  I've  heard  papa  say  that  there  was 
absolutely  no  profit  in  going  to  the  Legis 
lature."  Then,  becoming  insistent,  she 
exclaimed,  "Withdraw,  Tom;  please  do, 
for  my  sake !" 

She  made  a  rudimentary  movement  as 
if  to  throw  her  arms  around  him,  but  it 
came  to  nothing.  Her  voice,  however, 
carried  a  mighty  appeal  to  Tom's  heart. 
He  looked  at  her,  and  thought  how  com 
monplace  other  young  women  were  when 
compared  with  her. 

"You     will     withdraw,     won't     you, 


The  Balance  of  Power         273 

Tom?"  she  prayed.  One  of  her  hands 
touched  his  arm.  "  Say  yes,  Tom." 

For  a  moment  his  political  ambition 
and  his  standing  with  men  appeared  to 
dissolve  into  a  mere  mist,  a  finely  com 
minuted  sentiment  of  love;  but  he  kept  a 
good  hold  upon  himself. 

"  I  cannot  do  it,  Phyllis,"  he  said,  in  a 
firm  voice,  which  disclosed  by  some  in 
describable  inflection  how  much  it  pained 
him  to  refuse.  "My  whole  future  de 
pends  upon  success  in  this  race.  I  am 
sorry  it  is  your  father  I  must  beat,  but, 
Phyllis,  I  must  be  nominated.  I  can't 
afford  to  sit  down  in  your  father's  shad 
ow.  As  sure  as  you  live,  I  am  going  to 
beat  him." 

In  her  heart  she  was  proud  of  him,  and 
proud  of  this  resolution  that  not  even  she 
could  break.  From  that  moment  she  was 
between  the  millstones.  She  loved  her 
father,  it  seemed  to  her,  more  than  ever, 
and  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  his 
defeat.  Indeed,  with  that  generosity  char 
acteristic  of  the  sex  which  can  be  truly 
humorous  only  when  absolutely  uncon 
scious  of  it,  she  wanted  both  Tom  and  the 
Colonel  nominated,  and  both  elected.  She 
was  the  partisan  on  Tom's  side,  the  ad 
herent  on  her  father's. 

Colonel    Sommertoii    returned    on    the 

18         S.L. 


274  Harper's  Novelettes 

day  before  the  convention,  and  found  his 
friends  enthusiastic,  all  his  "fences"  in 
good  condition,  and  his  nomination  evi 
dently  certain.  It  followed  that  he  was 
in  high  good-humor.  He  hugged  Phyl 
lis,  and  in  a  casual  way  brought  up  the 
thought  of  how  pleasantly  they  could 
spend  the  winter  in  Atlanta  when  the 
Legislature  met. 

"  But  Tom — I  mean  Mr.  Bannister — is 
going  to  beat  you,  and  get  the  nomina 
tion,"  she  archly  remarked. 

"  If  he  does,  I'll  deed  you  Sommerton 
Place!"  As  he  spoke  he  glared  at  her  as 
a  lion  might  glare  at  thought  of  being 
defeated  by  a  cub. 

"  To  him  and  me  ?"  she  inquired,  with 
sudden  eagerness  of  tone.  "  If  he — " 

"  Phyllis!"  he  interrupted,  savagely, 
"  no  joking  on  that  subject.  I  won't— 

"No;  I'm  serious,"  she  sweetly  said. 
"'If  he  can't  beat  you,  I  don't  want 
him." 

"Zounds!  Is  that  a  bargain?"  He 
put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  bent 
down  so  that  his  eyes  were  on  a  level  with 
hers. 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  "and  I'll  hold  you 
to  it." 

"You  promise  me?"  he  insisted. 

"A  man  must  go  ahead  of  my  papa," 


The  Balance  of  Power         275 

she  said,  putting  her  arms  ahout  the 
old  gentleman's  neck,  "or  I'll  stay  by 
papa." 

He  kissed  her  with  atrocious  violence. 
Even  the  knee-sag  of  his  trousers  sug 
gested  more  than  ordinary  vigor  of  feel 
ing. 

"Well,  it's  good-bye,  Tom,"  he  said, 
pushing  her  away  from  him,  and  letting 
go  a  profound  bass  laugh.  "I'll  settle 
him  to-morrow." 

"You'll  see,"  she  rejoined.  "He  may 
not  be  so  easy  to  settle." 

He  gave  her  a  savage  but  friendly  cuff 
as  they  parted. 

That  evening  old  Barnaby  brought  his 
banjo  around  to  the  veranda.  Colonel 
Sommerton  was  down  in  town  mixing 
with  the  "boys,"  and  doing  up  his  final 
political  chores  so  that  there  might  be  no 
slip  on  the  morrow.  It  was  near  eleven 
|  o'clock  when  he  came  up  the  hill  and 
stopped  at  the  gate  to  hear  the  song  that 
Barnaby  was  singing.  He  supposed  that 
the  old  negro  was  all  alone.  Certainly 
the  captivating  voice,  with  its  unkempt 
melody,  and  its  throbbing,  skipping, 
harum  -  scarum  banjo  accompaniment, 
was  all  that  broke  the  silence  of  the 
place. 

His  song  was : 


276  Harper's  Novelettes 

"DE    SASSAFRAS    BLOOM 


"  Dey's  sugah  in  de  win'  when  de  sassafras 

bloom, 

When  de  little  co'n  fluttah   in  de  row, 
When  de  robin  in  de  tree,   like  er  young 

gal  in  de  loom, 
Sing  sweet,  sing  sof,  sing  low. 


"  Oh,    de    sassafras    blossom    hab    de    keen 

smell  o'  de  root, 

An'  it  hab  sich  er  tender  yaller  green ! 
De  co'n  hit  kinder  twinkle  when  hit  firs' 

begin  ter  shoot, 

While  de  bum'le-bee  hit  bum'le  in  be 
tween. 


"  Oh,    de    sassafras    tassel,    an'    de    young 

shoot  o'  de  co'n, 
An'    de    young    gal    er-singing    in    de 

loom, 
Dey's    somefin'    'licious    in    'em    f'om    de 

day  'at  dey  is  bo'n, 

An'   dis   darky's   sort  o'   took  er   likin' 
to  'm. 


Hit's  kind  o'  sort  o'  glor'us  when  yo'  feels 

so  quare  an'  cur'us, 
An'  yo    don'  know  what  it  is  yo'  wants 

ter  do; 
But  I  takes  de  chances  on  it  'at  hit  jes 

can't  be   injur'us 

When    de    whole    endurin'    natur    tells 
yo'  to ! 


The  Balance  of  Power         277 

"  Den  wake  up,  niggah,  see  de  sassafras  in 

bloom ! 

Lis'n  how  de  sleepy  wedder  blow! 
An'    de    robin    in    de    haw  -  bush    an'    de 

young  gal  in  de  loom 
Is  er-singin'  so   sof  an'  low." 

"  Thank  you,  Barn ;  here's  your  dollar," 
said  the  voice  of  Tom  Bannister  when  the 
song  was  ended.  "  You  may  go  now." 

And  while  Colonel  Sommerton  stood 
amazed,  the  young  man  came  down  the 
veranda  steps  with  Phyllis  on  his  arm. 
They  stopped  when  they  reached  the 
ground. 

"  Good  -  night,  dear.  I'll  win  you  to 
morrow  or  my  name  is  not  Tom  Bannis 
ter.  I'll  win  you,  and  Sommerton  Place 
TOO."  And  when  they  parted  he  came 
right  down  the  walk  between  the  trees,  to 
run  almost  against  Colonel  Sommerton. 

"  Why,  good-evening,  Colonel,"  he  said, 
with  a  cordial,  liberal  spirit  in  his  voice. 
"  I  have  been  waiting  in  hopes  of  seeing 
you." 

"  You'll  get  enough  of  me  to-morrow 
to  last  you  a  lifetime,  sah,"  promptly  re 
sponded  the  old  man,  marching  straight 
on  into  the  house.  Nothing  could  express 
more  concentrated  and  yet  comprehensive 
contempt  than  Colonel  Sommerton's  man 
ner. 


278          Harper's  Novelettes 

"  The  impudent  young  scamp,"  he 
growled.  "  I'll  show  him !" 

Phyllis  sprang  from  ambush  behind  a 
vine,  and  covered  her  father's  face  with 
warm  kisses,  then  broke  away  before  he 
could  say  a  word,  and  ran  up  to  her 
room. 

In  the  distant  kitchen  Barnaby  was 
singing : 

"Kick  so  high  I  broke  my  neck, 

An'  fling  my  right  foot  off'm  my  leg 
Went  to  work  mos'  awful  quick, 

An'  mended  'em  wid  er  wooden  peg." 

Next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  sharp  the 
convention  was  called  to  order,  General 
John  Duff  Tolliver  in  the  chair.  Speeches 
were  expected,  and  it  had  been  arranged 
that  Tom  Bannister  should  first  appear, 
Colonel  Sommcrton  would  follow,  and 
then  the  ballot  would  be  taken. 

This  order  of  business  showed  the  fine 
tactics  of  the  Colonel,  who  well  under 
stood  how  much  advantage  lay  in  the 
vivid  impression  of  a  closing  speech. 

As  the  two  candidates  made  their  way 
from  opposite  directions  through  the 
throng  to  the  platform,  which  was  under 
a  tree  in  a  beautiful  suburban  grove,  both 
were  greeted  with  effusive  warmth  by  ad 
miring  constituents.  Many  women  were 


The  Balance  of  Power         279 

present,  and  Tom  Bannister  felt  the  blood 
surge  mightily  through  his  veins  at  sight 
of  Phyllis  standing  tall  and  beautiful  be 
fore  him  with  her  hand  extended. 

"  If  you  lose,  die  game,  Tom,"  she  mur 
mured,  as  he  pressed  her  fingers  and 
passed  on. 

The  young  man's  appearance  on  the 
stand  called  forth  a  tremendous  roar  of 
applause.  Certainly  he  was  popular. 
Colonel  Sommerton  felt  a  queer  shock  of 
surprise  thrill  along  his  nerves.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  he  would  lose  ?  No ;  the 
thought  was  intolerable.  He  sat  a  trifle 
straighter  on  his  bench,  and  began  gath 
ering  the  points  of  his  well-conned  speech. 
He  saw  old  Barnaby  moving  around  the 
rim  of  the  crowd,  apparently  looking  for 
a  seat. 

Meantime,  Tom  was  proceeding  in  a 
clear,  soft,  far-reaching  voice.  The  Colo 
nel  started  and  looked  askance.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  At  first  his  brain  was  con 
fused,  but  presently  he  understood.  Word 
for  word,  sentence  for  sentence,  para 
graph  for  paragraph,  Tom  was  delivering 
the  Colonel's  own  sonorous  speech!  Of 
course  the  application  was  reversed  here 
and  there,  so  that  the  wit,  the  humor,  and 
the  personal  thrusts  all  went  home.  It 
was  a  wonderful  piece  of  ad  captandum 


280  Harper's  Novelettes 

oratory.  The  crowd  went  wild  from  start 
to  finish. 

Colonel  Mobley  Sommerton  sat  dazed 
and  stupefied,  mopping  his  forehead  and 
trying  to  collect  his  faculties.  He  felt 
beaten,  annihilated,  while  Tom  soared 
superbly  on  the  wings  of  Sommertonian 
oratory  so  mysteriously  at  his  command. 

From  a  most  eligible  point  of  view 
Phyllis  was  gazing  at  Tom  and  receiving 
the  full  brilliant  current  of  his  speech, 
and  she  appeared  to  catch  a  fine  stimulus 
from  the  flow  of  its  opening  sentences. 
As  it  proceeded  her  face  alternately 
flushed  and  paled,  and  her  heart  pounded 
heavily.  All  around  rose  the  tumult  of 
unbridled  applause.  Men  flung  up  their 
hats  and  yelled  themselves  hoarse.  A 
speech  of  that  sort  from  a  young  fellow 
like  Tom  Bannister  was  something  to 
create  irrepressible  enthusiasm.  It  ended 
in  such  a  din  that  when  General  John 
Duff  Tolliver  arose  to  introduce  Colonel 
Sommerton  he  had  to  wait  some  time  to 
be  heard. 

The  situation  was  one  that  absolutely 
appalled,  though  it  did  not  quite  paralyze, 
the  older  candidate,  who,  even  after  he 
had  gained  his  feet  and  stalked  to  the 
front  of  the  rude  rostrum,  was  as  empty 
of  thought  as  he  was  full  of  despair.  This 


The  Balance  of  Power         281 

sudden  and  unexpected  appropriation  of 
his  great  speech  had  sapped  and  stupefied 
his  intellect.  He  slowly  swept  the  crowd 
with  his  dazed  eyes,  and  by  some  accident 
the  only  countenance  clearly  visible  to 
him  was  that  of  old  Barnaby,  who  now 
sat  far  back  on  a  stump,  looking  for  all 
the  world  like  a  mightily  mystified  ba 
boon.  The  negro  winked  and  grimaced, 
and  scratched  his  flat  nose  in  sheer  va 
cant  stupidity.  Colonel  Sommerton  saw 
this,  and  it  added  an  enfeebling  incre 
ment  to  his  mental  torpor. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  he  presently  roared, 
in  his  melodious  bass  voice,  "  I  am  proud 
of  this  honor."  He  was  not  sure  of  an 
other  word  as  he  stood,  with  bagging 
trousers  and  sweat  -  beaded  face,  but  he 
made  a  superhuman  effort  to  call  up  his 
comatose  wits.  "  I  should  be  ungrateful 
were  I  not  proud  of  this  great  demonstra 
tion."  Just  then  his  gaze  fell  upon  the 
face  of  his  daughter.  Their  eyes  met 
with  a  mutual  flash  of  restrospection. 
They  were  remembering  the  bargain. 
The  Colonel  was  not  aware  of  it,  but  the 
deliberateness  and  vocal  volume  of  his 
opening  phrases  made  them  very  impres 
sive.  "  I  assure  you,"  he  went  on,  fum 
bling  for  something  to  say,  "that  my 
heart  is  brimming  with  gratitude  so  that 


282  Harper's  Novelettes 

my  lips  find  it  hard  to  utter  the  words 
that  crowd  into  my  mind."  At  this 
point  some  kindly  friend  in  the  audience 
gingerly  set  going  a  ripple  of  applause, 
which,  though  evidently  forced,  was  like 
wine  to  the  old  man's  intellect;  it  flung 
a  glow  through  his  imagination. 

"  The  speech  you  have  heard  the  youth 
ful  lamb  of  law  declaim  is  a  very  good 
one,  a  very  eloquent  one  indeed.  If  it 
were  his  own,  I  should  not  hesitate  to  say 
right  here  that  I  ought  to  stand  aside  and 
let  him  be  nominated ;  but,  fellow-citizens, 
that  speech  belongs  to  another  and  far 
more  distinguished  and  eligible  man  than 
Tom  Bannister."  Here  he  paused  again, 
and  stood  silent  for  a  moment.  Then, 
lifting  his  voice  to  a  clarion  pitch,  he 
added: 

"  Fellow-citizens,  I  wrote  that  speech, 
intending  to  deliver  it  here  to-day.  I  was 
called  to  Canton  011  business  early  in  the 
week,  and  during  my  absence  Tom  Ban 
nister  went  to  my  house  and  got  my  man 
uscript  and  learned  it  by  heart.  To  prove 
to  you  what  I  say  is  true,  I  will  now 
read." 

At  this  point  the  Colonel,  after  delib 
erately  wiping  his  glasses,  drew  from  his 
capacious  coat-pocket  the  manuscript  of 
his  address,  and  proceeded  to  read  it  word 


The  Balance  of  Power         283 

for  word,  just  as  Bannister  had  declaim 
ed  it.  The  audience  listened  in  silence, 
quite  unable  to  comprehend  the  situation. 
There  was  no  applause.  Evidently  sen 
timent  was  dormant,  or  it  was  still  with 
Tom.  Colonel  Sommerton,  feeling  the 
desperation  of  the  moment,  reached  forth 
at  random,  and  seeing-  Barnaby's  old 
black  face,  it  amused  him,  and  he  chanced 
to  grab  a  thought  as  if  out  of  the  expres 
sion  he  saw  there. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  he  added,  "  there  is 
one  thing  I  desired  to  say  upon  this  im 
portant  occasion.  Whatever  you  do,  be 
sure  not  to  nominate  to-day  a  man  who 
would,  if  elected,  ally  himself  with  the 
niggers.  I  don't  pretend  to  hint  that  my 
young  opponent,  Tom  Bannister,  would 
favor  nigger  rule,  but  I  do  say — do  you 
hear  me,  fellow-citizens? — I  do  say  that 
every  nigger  in  this  county  is  a  Bannister 
man!  How  do  I  know?  I  will  tell  you. 
Last  Saturday  night  the  niggers  had  a 
meeting  in  an  old  stable  on  my  premises. 
Wishing  to  know  what  they  were  up  to, 
I  stole  slyly  to  where  I  could  overhear 
their  proceedings.  My  old  nigger,  Barna- 
by — yonder  he  sits,  and  he  can't  deny  it 
— was  presiding,  and  the  question  before 
the  meeting  was,  '  Which  of  the  two  can 
didates,  Tom  Bannister  and  Colonel  Som- 


284  Harper's  Novelettes 

merton,  shall  we  niggers  support?'  On 
this  question  there  was  some  debate  and 
difference  of  opinion,  until  old  Bob  War- 
raus  arose  and  said,  ( Mistah  Prcs'dent, 
dey's  no  use  er  talkin';  I  likes  Colonel 
Sommerton  mighty  well;  he's  a  berry 
good  man;  dey's  not  a  bit  er  niggah  in 
'im.  On  t'  odder  han',  Mistah  Pres'dent, 
Mistah  Tom  Bannistah  is  er  white  man 
too,  jes  de  same;  but  I  kin  say  fo'  Mis 
tah  Bannistah  'at  he's  mo'  like  er  nig 
gah  an'  any  white  man  'at  I  ebber  seed 
afore!'" 

Here  the  Colonel  paused  to  wait  for  the 
shouting  and  the  hat-throwing  to  subside. 
Meantime  the  face  of  old  Barnaby  was 
drawn  into  one  indescribable  pucker  of 
amazement.  He  could  not  believe  his 
eyes  or  his  ears.  Surely  that  was  not 
Colonel  Sommerton  standing  up  there 
telling  such  an  enormous  falsehood  on 
him!  He  shook  his  woolly  head  doleful 
ly,  and  gnawed  a  little  splinter  that  he 
had  plucked  from  the  stump. 

"  Of  course,  fellow-citizens,"  the  Colo 
nel  went  on,  "  that  settled  the  matter, 
and  the  niggers  endorsed  Tom  Bannister 
unanimously  by  a  rising  vote!" 

The  yell  that  went  up  when  the  speaker, 
bowing  profoundly,  took  his  seat,  made  it 
seem  certain  that  Bannister  would  be 


The  Balance  of  Power         285 

beaten;  but  when  the  ballot  was  taken  it 
was  found  that  he  had  been  chosen  by  one 
vote  majority. 

Colonel  Mobley  Sommerton's  face  turn 
ed  as  white  as  his  hair.  The  iron  of  de 
feat  went  home  to  his  proud  heart  with 
terrible  effect,  and  as  ho  tried  to  rise,  the 
features  of  the  hundreds  of  countenances 
below  him  swam  and  blended  confusedly 
in  his  vision.  The  sedentary  bubbles  on 
the  knees  of  his  trousers  fluttered  with 
sympathetic  violence. 

Tom  Bannister  was  on  his  feet  in  a 
moment — it  was  an  appealing  look  from 
Phyllis  that  inspired  him — and  once  more 
his  genial  voice  rang  out  clear  and  strong. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a 
motion  to  make.  Hear  me."  He  waved 
his  right  hand  to  command  silence,  then 
proceeded:  "Mr.  President,  I  withdraw 
my  name  from  this  convention,  and  move 
that  the  nomination  of  Colonel  Mobley 
Sommerton  be  made  unanimous  by  ac 
clamation.  I  have  no  right  to  this  nomi 
nation,  and  nothing,  save  a  matter  greater 
than  life  or  death  to  me,  could  have  in 
duced  me  to  steal  it  as  I  this  day  have 
done.  Colonel  Sommerton  knows  why  I 
did  it.  He  gave  his  word  of  honor  that 
he  would  cease  all  objections  to  giving  his 
daughter  to  me  in  marriage,  and  that 


286  Harper's  Novelettes 

furthermore  he  would  deed  Sommerton 
Place  to  us  as  a  wedding  present,  if  I 
beat  him  for  the  nomination.  Mr.  Presi 
dent  and  fellow-citizens,  do  you  blame  me 
for  memorizing;  his  speech?  That  mag 
nificent  speech  meant  to  me  the  most 
beautiful  wife  in  America,  and  the  hand 
somest  estate  in  this  noble  county/ 

If  Tom  Bannister  had  been  boisterously 
applauded  before  this,  it  was  as  nothing 
beside  the  noise  which  followed  when 
Colonel  Mobley  Sommerton  was  declared 
the  unanimous  nominee  of  the  conven 
tion.  Meantime,  Phyllis  had  hurried  to 
the  carriage  and  been  driven  home:  she 
dared  not  stay  and  let  the  crowd  gaze  at 
her  after  that  bold  confession  of  Tom's. 

The  cheering  for  the  nominee  was  yet 
at  its  flood  when  Bannister  leaped  at  Colo 
nel  Sommerton  and  grasped  his  hand. 
The  old  gentleman  was  flushed  and  smil 
ing,  as  became  a  politician  so  wonderful 
ly  favored.  It  was  a  moment  never  to  be 
forgotten  by  either  of  the  men. 

"I  cordially  congratulate  you,  Colonel 
Sommerton,  on  your  nomination,"  said 
Tom,  with  great  feeling,  "  and  you  may 
count  on  my  hearty  support." 

"If  I  don't  have  to  support  you,  and 
pay  your  office  rent  in  the  bargain,  all 
the  rest  of  my  life,  I  miss  my  guess,  you 


The  Balance  of  Power         287 

young  scamp!"  growled  the  Colonel,  in  a 
major  key.  "  Be  off  with  you !" 

Tom  moved  away  to  let  the  ColoneFs 
friends  crowd  up  and  shake  hands  with 
him;  but  the  delighted  youth  could  not 
withold  a  Parthian  shaft.  As  he  retreated 
he  said,  "  Oh,  Colonel,  don't  bother  about 
my  support;  Sommerton  Plantation  will 
be  ample  for  that !" 

"  Hit  do  beat  all  thunder  how  dese 
white  men  syfoogles  eroun'  in  politics," 
old  Barnaby  thought  to  himself.  Then 
he  rattled  the  coins  in  his  two  pockets. 
The  contributions  of  Colonel  Sommerton 
chinked  on  the  left,  those  of  Tom  Ban 
nister  and  Phyllis  rang  on  the  right. 
"  Blame  this  here  ole  chile's  eyes,"  he 
went  on,  "  but  'twar  a  close  shabe !  Seem 
lak  I's  kinder  holdin'  de  balernce  ob 
power.  I  use  my  inflooence  fer  bofe  ob 
'em — yah,  yah,  yah-r-r!  an'  hit  did  look 
lak  I's  gwine  ter  balernce  fings  up  tell  I 
'lee'  'em  bofe  ter  oncet  right  dar!  Bofe 
of  'em  got  de  nomination — yah,  yah,  yah- 
r-r  !  But  I  say  'rah  f o'  little  Miss  Phyl 
lis!  She  de  one  'at  know  how  to  pull  de 
right  string — yah,  yah,  yah-r-r!" 

The  wedding  at  Sommerton  Place  came 
on  the  Wednesday  following  the  fall  elec 
tion.  Besides  the  great  number  of  guests 
and  the  striking  beauty  of  the  bride  there 


288  Harper's  Novelettes 

was  nothing  notable  in  it,  unless  the  song 
prepared  by  Barnaby  for  the  occasion, 
and  sung  by  him  thereupon  to  a  capti 
vating  banjo  accompaniment,  may  be  so 
distinguished.  A  stanza,  the  final  one  of 
that  masterpiece,  has  been  preserved.  It 
may  serve  as  an  informal  ending,  a  char 
coal  tail-piece,  to  our  light  but  truthful 
little  story. 

"Stan'    by    yo*    frien's    and    nebber    mek 

trouble, 

An'  so,  ef  yo's  got  any  sense, 
Yo'll  know  hit's  a  good  t'ing  ter  be  sorter 

double, 
An*  walk  on  bofe  sides  ob  de  fence!" 


THE    END 


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